


and a bit with a dog

by mellyflori



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: (Slow-ish burn anyway), Epistolary, M/M, Pets, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Unrepentant Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:12:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5221013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyflori/pseuds/mellyflori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was meant to be a fill for Inseparablesfest, but my work situation wouldn't play nice with the schedule. Also, I know, I have an unfinished WIP out there that needs updating. But I also needed to write this because of reasons. For science. And because you can guarantee that every time one of those "Okay but what about these AUs" lists comes around, I want to write at least three of them. Epistolary is a pain in the ass to format, I've tried to catch all the issues, my apologies if there are still one or two spacing problems hanging out there.</p><p>This work is chaptered but all chapters are completed. They'll go up on successive days this week. Rating for later chapters.</p><p>Thank yous - Anique helped me figure out who was who, Liz validated my terrible jokes, Cee helped me poke the end until it worked, Dee validated my need for smut, Te laughed uproariously at all the right places, Kyele thought it needed a cat, Karen's gorgeous OT3 universe gave me the a seating arrangement idea that comes up at the end.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a fill for Inseparablesfest, but my work situation wouldn't play nice with the schedule. Also, I know, I have an unfinished WIP out there that needs updating. But I also needed to write this because of reasons. For science. And because you can guarantee that every time one of those "Okay but what about these AUs" lists comes around, I want to write at least three of them. Epistolary is a pain in the ass to format, I've tried to catch all the issues, my apologies if there are still one or two spacing problems hanging out there.
> 
> This work is chaptered but all chapters are completed. They'll go up on successive days this week. Rating for later chapters.
> 
> Thank yous - Anique helped me figure out who was who, Liz validated my terrible jokes, Cee helped me poke the end until it worked, Dee validated my need for smut, Te laughed uproariously at all the right places, Kyele thought it needed a cat, Karen's gorgeous OT3 universe gave me the a seating arrangement idea that comes up at the end.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before this morning they knew two things about the man in the flat across the hall, the first was that he had a sign on his door saying ‘Attn Deliveries: Please knock twice and leave parcels on the doorstep. Do not wait for a response.’ The second thing they knew was that the painting they could just barely glimpse as his door swung shut behind him was atrocious. Those two things, and a prodigious imagination, were all Aramis needed to extrapolate the man’s entire life.
> 
> Porthos had reserved judgement. He feels justified, now. Because the man Aramis had sketched out would never have owned the floppy-eared, black nosed ball of energy Porthos had met that morning.

"I'm only saying that I never would have expected a man who has that sign on his door to have a dog named Dug."

Porthos snorts, “There could be a perfectly good explanation for that sign. It doesn’t need to mean anything about his personality at all. Besides, he was nice and polite that time we saw him in the hall. You said he was cute."

The tone of Aramis’ silence across the line is dubious at best. Before this morning they knew two things about the man in the flat across the hall, the first was that he had a sign on his door saying ‘Attn Deliveries: Please knock twice and leave parcels on the doorstep. Do not wait for a response.’  The second thing they knew was that the painting they could just barely glimpse as his door swung shut behind him was atrocious. Those two things and a prodigious imagination were all Aramis needed to extrapolate the man’s entire life.

Porthos had reserved judgment.  He feels justified, now.  Because the man Aramis had sketched out would never have owned the floppy-eared, black nosed ball of energy Porthos had met that morning.

“I said he _could_ be cute _if_ he smiled. And now you’re telling me that a man who both takes a snotty tone in 72 point font _and_ has a fondness for abstract expressionism has a pet with a Disney movie reference for a name.” Aramis is still dubious

Porthos scrapes the diced vegetables into the pan, feeling their cat wind between his legs. “Are you going to to listen to the story, or are you going to write your own?"

Aramis is in London, but Porthos can almost hear him blush from across the Atlantic. “I’m sorry, my love. Occupational hazard. Go on."

“Right, so. Well, now I’ve forgotten where I was."

“Fresh out of the shower, only wearing a robe, screaming in the hallway, prissy woman wrestling with Dug. Though to be fair, I could have done with a few more lines about you fresh out of the shower and wearing nothing but a robe."

Porthos laughs and bends to scratch behind Victoria’s left ear. “You’ve got a one-track mind. It’s lucky I love you that way. So there she is in these fuckin’ deadly heels and this perfect blonde ice princess hairdo and this mutt is absolutely not moving. She’s trying to drag him out the door and he’s got his feet braced and she’s swearing a blue streak.”  He pulls two chicken breasts from the refrigerator and lays them out on the worktop. Grabbing a tenderizing hammer from the utensil crock, he says, “I just knew that wasn’t ever going to go anywhere, so I asked if she needed help."

He pauses to flatten one of the breasts on both sides with three quick blows of the hammer.  Aramis is laughing. “Tell me you didn’t kill her for being cruel to the dog and now we have to find a good place to hide the body."

“No, you ass. It’s chicken piccata night."

“Forget the robe, now you really are teasing me."

“Well if someone wasn't halfway across the world they could have some as well. Stop interrupting me.”  He flattens the other breast and starts dredging them through milk and breadcrumbs as he continues. “I could tell she was about to start swearing at me, but I think she could tell I was trying to be nice. Eventually, she just stops pulling and starts bitching. She says the dog is her boyfriend’s and he hates her—."

“The boyfriend?"

“No, the dog. Do you want to hear this?"

“Sorry."

Laying the breaded chicken in the skillet and pausing to level a challenging glare at the cat who is even now plotting how best to get to it, Porthos says, “Right, so she goes on for a while about how stubborn he is and how he’s mean and meanwhile this vicious beast has come over to me and is just dancing around my legs and trying to say hi. The whole time she’s bitching he’s just getting himself all tangled up in his leash.”  He pokes at the chicken, flipping it over and listening to Aramis make polite, attentive noises.

“And then right about the time she’s telling me he’s bad-tempered, I lean down to help untangle him from the leash and he starts licking my face. "

Aramis’ laughter is a bark, appropriately. “Clearly, very bad-tempered."

“Right?” Porthos is laughing, too. This is the only good thing about when Aramis is gone for weeks at a time, they get these great calls to help them reconnect in a way that sometimes gets missed in day-to-day life.

“He’s managed to get his back left leg wrapped up so tight he can’t straighten it, so I get him fixed up and scratch him behind his ear and I look up and she’s just shooting daggers right at me."

Aramis laughs, and Porthos can hear it muffled for a second. He knows that noise, it’s the sound of Aramis putting his shirt on. He must be getting ready to go out, and suddenly the pang of how much Porthos misses him is sharp in his chest. Victoria coils around his ankles again until she feels Porthos relax, then with a flick of one ear she retreats to the bedroom before anyone can accuse her of caring.

“As if somehow it’s your fault that the dog has the good taste to like you? Everyone likes you.”  Aramis is grinning, Porthos hears it so clearly he can almost see it.  He can feel himself grinning in response.

“Well given the look she shot me as I stood up, I’m not surprised the dog doesn’t like her. Still, he must have figured once he was out of the apartment he might as well go out because she stormed off to the lift and he went trotting right after her."

“Poor dog. On the other hand, she sounds a perfect match for his owner."

“I’m still not sure,” Porthos says, as much to listen to Aramis splutter as to give the neighbor an honest chance. “But yeah, that’s the story of how I found out our neighbor’s dog is named Dug."

“And that his girlfriend is a bit of a handful. Or are you reserving judgment on her as well?"

“Nope, I’m set on her. Any woman who can be mean to that dog? Only gets one shot."

Aramis sighs and Porthos is sure he’s going to comment about Porthos’ big heart or his soft nature. Instead, Aramis just says, “I love you so much."

“I love you, too.  How was your day?"

“Nevermind that, tell me more about the piccata.”  His laugh is filthy, but not as filthy as the half hour of lewd food-based innuendos Porthos gives him.

  

Just over a week has gone by when Porthos hears shouting again. It’s a drizzly Monday evening, the kind of early fall day that reminds Porthos that while Baltimore is technically south of the Mason/Dixon line, it doesn’t shy away from getting good and cold when the time is right. He and Victoria are on the couch together. She’s laid out in a fluffy white sprawl, pretending not to be cuddling with him, while he plays his video game. So for a second he assumes the screaming is coming from the speakers. It isn’t until he realizes that it’s a shrill female voice that he knows it’s the woman across the hall again.

Porthos opens the door just in time to hear her scream, “I said get in here, you little shit!"

Dug is running up and down the hall, dancing out of her reach every time he runs past her where she’s standing in the doorway. When he sees Porthos he stops, ducks in between his legs, and before Porthos can think to grab his collar, the dog is safely in the living room, curled up in Aramis’ favorite chair.  Porthos throws a worried glance at the couch, but Victoria seems to have left for quieter pastures.

He turns back to the woman in the doorway across the hall. “I’m so sorry, give me just a moment and I’ll bring him back over.”

Dug has managed to bury his nose under the back cushion of the chair, presumably with the belief that if he can’t see Porthos, Porthos can’t see him. When Porthos’ voice comes from right above him, Dug flinches a little.  “Hey, you look real cute like that, but you gotta get back across the hall, buddy."

The dog doesn’t move.

Porthos grabs his collar and tugs until Dug has all four feet on the floor again before he lets go.  “Okay, let’s move, out the door.”  Dug makes a move to jump back on the chair, but Porthos has a finger in the ring holding his rabies vaccination tag before he gets too far.  “Doing this the hard way, are we?"

Hooking his hand under the collar itself, Porthos firmly guides the dog over to the open door.  As soon as he sees the woman standing in the doorway opposite Dug digs his feet into the doormat and refuses to budge.

“One second,” Porthos says, and bends to pick the dog up.

He hears a disgusted sigh and before he can look all the way up again, she spits out, “Whatever. Forget it. You can _keep_ the dog.”  She reaches to the right, just inside her door, and grabs her purse.  “Keep both of them,” she says, hurling the words at him as she slams the door and storms off down the hall.

Still crouched next to the dog, Porthos watches her go, his mouth hanging open with shock. It isn’t until the lift doors close behind her that he looks back down at the dog.

“Looks like it’s you and me, buddy,” he says. Dug looks right back at him and licks Porthos across his left eyebrow.

 

> From: Aramis (personal) <writerundercover@gmail.com>
> 
> To: Porthos <p.d.vallon@gmail.com>
> 
> Date: Mon, Sep 7, 2015 at 11:45 PM
> 
> Subject: Re: So we might own a dog?
> 
> I’m not sure why I’m the one on the book tour, you’re the one with all the stories!  And yes, of course we’ll take him in. We can hardly put that face out on the street, now can we? (Don’t think I missed how you led with the adorable pictures!) I’m sure Mr. Snotty Signs will be home soon and Dug can get back home, but for now it’s nice to think of you having company besides Victoria, as we both know she’s always loved me best.
> 
> This is a nice little town, the crowd was great, but the real delight was the staff at the store.  I felt so welcome, Porthos.  A cute brunette even plied me with coffee the entire time I was there.  If you were here you’d have flirted with her, so I did it on your behalf.  I know what you’re thinking, I shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. But sweetheart, I did it for you!
> 
> Tomorrow is…. Chicago I think? I don’t know, they’re all starting to blur together at this point. That’s terrible to say, I know. I always feel like I should give each place my absolute best, but if I do that, I’m not sure what I have left at the end will be enough to send home to you.
> 
> Well, that was excessively maudlin.  Cheer me up, send me pictures of you with our temporary pet.
> 
> All my life’s kisses,
> 
> Aramis 

 

> From: Aramis (personal) <writerundercover@gmail.com>
> 
> To: Porthos <p.d.vallon@gmail.com>
> 
> Date: Mon, Sep 7, 2015 at 11:53 PM
> 
> Subject: Re: So we might own a dog?
> 
> Imagine my smile as I curl into this cold hotel bed surrounded by the warmth of those pictures. My heart is particularly stolen by the one of him drooling directly onto your favorite jeans. I know _I_ always drool over the sight of you in those jeans. I think we’ll have words about the one where he appears to be asleep on my chair.  Just don’t let him on my pillow, I want to make sure you still miss me.
> 
> There is no one like you - there is only you,
> 
> Aramis

 

> From:  Porthos <p.d.vallon@gmail.com>
> 
> To:  Aramis (personal) <writerundercover@gmail.com>
> 
> Date: Tues, Sep 8, 2015 at 7:12 AM
> 
> Subject: Re: So we might own a dog?
> 
> Babe, there is nothing in this world that will stop me from missing you while you’re gone.  But if it makes you feel better, Dug slept in your chair. See, even he misses you. I miss you more.  Are we still on for our Skype date tomorrow?
> 
> -P

 

There’s a moment of shaky camera work at the start of the call and Porthos feels vaguely seasick until Aramis’ face comes into view.  “Sorry, sorry, I thought I had it set up, but it fell off the desk as soon as you answered."

“Do your audiences know that your suave persona is just an act? Do they know you’re really like this?"

Aramis grins. “No, and you’re not to tell them.”  He sighs and stares at Porthos. “I’ve missed your face."

Porthos’ heart aches. “I miss yours, too, babe.”

“How is Victoria doing with our guest?”

“You know how the princess is, she pretends she doesn’t like any of us, but I caught the two of them curled your chair the other day.” The cat in question takes the opportunity to walk directly between Porthos and the webcam. Porthos smiles and scratches her head as she leaves.  “Dug sniffs her a bit and she stomps off in a huff because he dared to make eye contact.  Secretly I think she likes him more than she likes me.”

Aramis’ chuckle is warm and soft. “I’ll do everything I can to make sure you don’t feel unloved, darling.”

Porthos smiles and misses Aramis like a phantom limb. For the first time in an hour, Porthos is sitting still, and Dug takes advantage by trying to jump up onto his lap.

“Is that Dug?  Hi, Dug!”  Aramis’ voice goes up in pitch and he’s waving like a lunatic. He’s four seconds from baby-talk and Porthos can sense it.

“Don’t mind him,” he tells Dug. “Usually he’s much better with words. They even pay him to write. Not that you’d know it now."  Dug is staring at him with rapt attention.

“I can’t believe you’re mocking me in front of our dog."

“He’s not our dog."

“He’s our dog for the moment."

“I suppose he is. For the moment."

“And he’s a good dog. Yes, you are! Yes, you are!”  Porthos is ready to tease Aramis again, but Dug’s ears perk up and he turns to the screen.  His tongue is hanging out and he’s ridiculously adorable.  He appears to be thrilled to have this stranger tell him what a good dog he is. Porthos sighs.

“It’s a good job you’re both so cute."

It’s four days after Dug’s jailbreak that the knock comes on Porthos and Aramis’ door.  Porthos recognizes his neighbor immediately.  They’d only seen each other once, but Porthos had been immediately sure he’d never forget those eyes. He’d caught sight of the neighbor across the mailroom and for a second it was like he was being pinned where he stood. Barely a heartbeat passed before the neighbor blinked and looked away, but since that day whenever anyone’s referred to something as ‘blue,’ Porthos thinks of this man’s eyes. They’re still blue and he still feels pinned.

“Hi!” he says and tries to sound warm and welcoming instead of flirty and weird.

“I understand from a rather petulant note that you have my— Hello, you.”  Dug has come running in from where he and Victoria been harassing the birds outside the bedroom window.  The neighbor drops to one knee and scratches Dug behind his ears. There might be an inch of his face Dug doesn’t try to lick, but Porthos would be hard pressed to find it.  “Yes, I’ve missed you as well. Okay, you’ve had your fun seeing the sights. Now, let’s get you home and out of this nice man’s apartment."

He clips a leash to Dug’s collar and stands, holding his hand out.  “I can’t thank you enough… uhh…"

“Porthos. DuVallon. Just Porthos. Hi.”  As he reaches out to shake hands, Porthos realizes his palms are sweating. He’s been dating Aramis for almost five years, he’d thought he’d outgrown being flustered by very attractive men.  Apparently not.

“Athos de la Fère. Thank you very much, Mr. DuVallon, for taking care of Dug. I’d have come home and relieved you of this burden, but I’m afraid I didn’t know what had happened until I arrived home. My—  well I suppose she’s my ex-girlfriend now, isn’t she? My ex-girlfriend left me her key and a note about the dog on my hall table and I’ve just now got back."

Porthos is trying not to just watch this man’s mouth as he talks. “He wasn’t a burden at all. We had a great time.”  Porthos scrubs at the back of his neck with his palm. “Honest? I’m going to miss him a bit."

The smile Athos gives him is soft around the edges. “Well, you know where we are."

“Might have to come visit—“ he’s interrupted by a ringing from his front pocket and Porthos pulls his phone out.  It’s Aramis calling, no doubt sitting bored before his talk begins. Porthos sees his name and grins.

“Do you need to—?” Athos asks.

“Just my boyfriend, I’ll call him back in just a second."

Athos’ face goes immediately blank. “Well, I won’t keep you. Thank you, again.”  He reaches for his back pocket.  “If you’ll just tell me what you spent on his food I’ll reimburse you."

Porthos waves him off.  “I wouldn’t dream of it.  Let’s just say I was laying in supplies for the next time he makes a break from someone.”  He thinks he’s just smiling warmly, but Aramis would recognize it as the smile Porthos gives when he’s trying to be disarming and memorable.  His dimples are practically cavernous.

The lines around Athos’ eyes soften just slightly.  “Have a good night, Mr. DuVallon,” he says, leading Dug across the hall.

“Just Porthos.”  At Athos’ look, he continues, “Just call me Porthos. It was nice meeting you.  G’night, Dug!"

Dug turns to look at Porthos and wags his tail so hard he hits himself in the nose with the tip.  He still looks startled as Athos’ front door closes behind him.

 

“How are you surviving without your buddy?"

Porthos laughs and puts his turn signal on. “I’m not gonna lie, babe. It’s a little too quiet now that it’s just back to me and the princess. But he was only here for a couple of days, I’ll get back to normal soon."

“Do we need to get a dog?” Aramis asks, and there is a smile in his voice.

“No,” Porthos is grinning but a little wistful. “Not with your schedule and my need to sleep in on the weekends. Plus if you’re at a reading and I’m at a job site until almost midnight some night I don’t want to worry that a dog is going to be taking it out on your favorite chair.” He slides the car into a parking spot in front of the supermarket.

“I do love that chair,” Aramis says, fond and loving. “But not as much as I love you. I want you to be happy. You’ll tell me if you change your mind?"

“Yeah. ‘Course I will.” Porthos pushes the lock button and twirls the keys around his finger.  "And if I need a fix, Maybe Athos will let me take Dug out for a run every now and then."

Aramis’ voice drops an octave and his tone gets playful. “You could take them both out."

“Aramis.” Porthos almost looks around the parking lot to see if anyone heard that.

And now Aramis is laughing. “What? He’s single now!"

“Aramis! A week ago you thought he was stuffy and uptight."

“I still think he’s stuffy and uptight. But now I know how much that adorable dog loves him, and you can’t fool dogs.”

Aramis is snickering now. Porthos is quiet for a second, he’s standing in front of a display of oranges, running over a row of them with his fingers and waiting for Aramis to finish being amused with himself. When he speaks again, Aramis can hear the almost shy smile. “You were right, though; he is cute when he smiles."

“Of course I was right. Now tell me all about it.”

It’s Porthos’ turn to laugh. He makes his way through the store, ticking items off his list and telling Aramis all the details about Athos’ smile, the laugh lines around his eyes, his long fingers and how strong they were when he was scratching Dug behind the ears.

 

When he gets home from the market, Porthos meets Athos and Dug in the lobby, clearly on their way out for a walk.  Dug makes a leap for the sack in Porthos’ right hand and nearly gets his claws into it before Athos can yank him back.

“Dug! My apologies,” he says, turning to Porthos. “One would think he was starving to death."

“I don’t blame him,” Porthos says with a smile. “That’s the bag with the steaks in it.”

“Ah, yes that would explain it. I haven’t had a chance to go shopping since I’ve been home so he’s been sadly lacking in leftovers and table scraps."

It’s Dug’s company as much as Athos’ that Porthos is thinking of when he says, “You should both join me for dinner."

Athos looks startled and he’s opening his mouth, surely to protest, when Porthos says, “There’s plenty for both of us and leftovers for Dug. I’m so used to shopping for two that my brain forgets when he’s out of town. Besides, it’s too quiet in here."

The expression on Athos’ face says he knows that quiet all too well. “I— All right, yes,” Athos says, sounding a touch surprised at himself. “If you’re sure—.”

"I’d welcome the company,” Porthos interrupts. “Stop by when you’re back from your walk?"

Athos nods, still looking slightly unsure, and leads Dug out the lobby doors.

Despite the fact that Athos and Dug take significantly longer walks than Porthos and Dug took, Porthos is still doing prep work when there’s a knock on the door.  There are actually three knocks but thanks to the combination of the stereo and the running water, Porthos only hears the last one.

“Ah fuck, I’m so sorry! How long have you been out here?"

“Not long,” Athos says, trying to sound reassuring.

Porthos steps back and opens the door to wave them in. “Did you ring the bell?"

“No,” Athos says, taking Dug’s leash off, “believe it or not, this one is scared of doorbells."

Porthos stares. “Are you having me on?"

“Not a bit.”  He follows Porthos into the kitchen. “It took me the better part of a week to figure out that it wasn’t the deliverymen he was scared of, but the sound itself."

Porthos has a knife in one hand, a pepper in the other, and a look of utter surprise on his face.  “That explains the sign."

One side of Athos’ mouth quirks up. "I had to learn to have them just leave the package. Otherwise, they had to stand and wait while I put the escape artist in the spare bedroom."

Laughing as he shakes his head, Porthos dices the pepper and thinks about how off the mark he and Aramis both were. He trims the fat from one of the steaks and whistles for the dog.  Dug climbs down off of Aramis’ chair and comes tearing into the kitchen. He swallows what Porthos tosses him nearly whole.

“Between you and the fact that he’s now free to sleep on the other side of my bed again, he’s going to be an absolute nightmare for the kennel next week.”  Athos shakes his head with a wry smile.

Porthos conscripts Athos to help set the table and when the meat and vegetables are both cooked he slides them on to plates and they sit down to eat.

“I never said,” Porthos starts, searching for the right words. “I had a great time hanging out with Dug, but I never said how sorry I was to about what led to it. About your… ex?"

There’s that half-smile on Athos’ face again and he takes another swallow of the really quite lovely red wine Porthos has pulled out. “Most certainly ex, yes. And there’s no real need to be sorry. It’s nice to have someone in your life, but with just me and Dug there’s certainly less chance of disappointing someone.  Fewer random shoes laying around as well.”  He stops to think.  “Same amount of hair on the other pillow, though.  They both shed abominably."

Porthos laughs so hard he splutters a bit of water down his shirt.  “Well,” he says, taking his glass and raising it, “better days, yeah?"

“Indeed,” Athos smiles and raises his glass in return. Once they’ve settled into eating again, Athos speaks, and it’s the first time he’s seemed anything but self-deprecating about the entire situation, “She didn’t even have the good grace to call.  Instead, there was a note on my dining table along with the spare key. Apparently both the dog and I are too much work for too little return."

Porthos looks horrified and Athos only shrugs in reply.  “She’s not wrong, of course, at least about me. This contract I’ve been on has kept me out of town four days a week, three weeks a month, for almost the last six months. I kept telling her we were almost finished, but there are always circumstances beyond even my control. Apparently she believed that as head of the project I should have some kind of divine powers.”

He takes a very precisely cut piece of steak and scoops up some peppers to go with it.  “As if somehow I’d had them and just chosen not to use them merely to irritate her. Then again, I could always have tried harder. Of course, it’s not as if I’m a delight when I am around, either. Between my work schedule and my relationship skills, she’s better off.” He shakes his head and puts the bite in his mouth, sighing and smiling at the taste.

“This is very good, thank you for having us."

“Selfish of me, really,” Porthos says. “I missed this one,” he points at Dug with his fork. “And you’ve lived across the hall for months and we’ve never had a chance to do more than nod in passing.”

“And here all I’ve done is complain about my work and love life."

Porthos waves his fork, dismissing the semi-apology. “Nah, sometimes you need to get things off your chest. Did you say your project isn’t finished?"

“Mm, yes,” he nods. "We’re due to be completed in ten days if all goes to plan. And when it’s through I vow to never take another project more than a few miles from home; travel isn’t fun when it’s just from your hotel to the office."

“My boyfriend says the same. He says it doesn’t count as travel if you don’t actually get to see the city from outside a building."

Athos stiffens just a bit but smiles when he says, “Yes, exactly. I’ve been to my share of exotic locales, but it hardly seems like it when you never see the sky."

“It’s one of the ways I prefer my job to jobs like yours. I’m an electrician, see, and usually when I get called in the project is a great mishmash of inside and outside. I always feel a bit like a kid in some really fancy playground. And I get to see the sky.  Whereas you, stuck in…” Porthos trails off, waiting for Athos to fill in the blank.

“Montreal,” Athos says, taking a drink of his wine.

“And never get to get outdoors? Still, there’s money and security and you probably don’t have to work in the rain, so we’ve all got something going for us.”  Porthos smiles and tries to slide the conversation in another direction.

He feels awkward asking this, but he powers through. “Where will Dug be while you’re gone.”

Athos savors the last of his steak before he answers. “I found a good kennel last year when I had to make a trip to meet my brother’s newest offspring. He’ll be around other dogs a bit, which is nice, and it’s only for a few days at a time."

Awkwardly digging the tip of his knife into the remains of his vegetables, Porthos says, “He’s welcome here."

“Come again?” Athos looks confused.

“I’d love to take him while you’re gone. He’s great company and I’m on my own for the next two weeks while my boyfriend is on his trip. Besides, I think we get on.”  Porthos smiles over at where Dug is nestled into Aramis chair with his tail wrapped around himself. Victoria is curled up on his back. Dug sees the look and wags his tail, hitting himself in the nose again and Victoria manages to look disgusted using only her eyes.

“I wouldn’t want to impose, but I would love to have him with someone he likes. I’d pay you, of course, and I could leave you with food and his favorite toys.  Though not his very favorite toy, as that’s my left running shoe and I’m taking that with me.”  He smirks at Porthos, but his smile in Dug’s direction is indulgent.

Porthos wouldn’t dream of taking money from Athos for the privilege of hanging out with his sweet and adorable mutt, but now is not the time to tell him that. He smiles at Athos, thinking of how little he is actually like the Snotty in 48pt Font Guy that Porthos and Aramis had discussed.

Later, the door has barely closed behind Athos and Dug before Porthos texts Aramis.  

 

> Outgoing Message
> 
> 9:02pm
> 
> To: Aramis
> 
> I have the answer to one of your burning questions, what’s it worth to you?

 

The reply comes in less than fifteen seconds despite the fact that Porthos is sure Aramis is doing a reading right now.

 

> Incoming Message
> 
> 9:02pm
> 
> From: Aramis
> 
> My Porthos is cruel, you know I hate not knowing things!

 

> Outgoing Message
> 
> 9:04pm
> 
> To: Aramis
> 
> Yeah, I do. That's why I’m asking what it’s worth to you. Using your weakness against you.

 

Aramis must have found a way to duck out of the presentation for a second because the phone rings almost before Porthos hits Send.

Aramis gasps. “I would never do something like that to you!"

Porthos laughs and adjusts his headset so he can do the dishes while they talk.  “Oh is that how it is?  You never used my weaknesses against me? There’s a pair of skinny jeans in the closet that says you’re a dirty liar."

“I didn’t — "

“Let’s say I give you the benefit of the doubt and pretend you didn’t stand in the dressing room and think about how I’d look when I saw you in them, that doesn’t explain every time after that. All it took was one time of seeing my reaction and every time I turned around you had those jeans on and you were picking shit up off the floor. Now who’s cruel?”  He’s trying to sound firm, but he knows his smile is being heard loud and clear.

“It is possible, just _possible_ that my shopping trip did include some creative visualizations of you taking those jeans off of me.”  He clears his throat in what is clearly meant to be a dignified manner.  “Now, you promised me the answers to questions."

Porthos slides the door to the dishwasher closed and wipes the sink dry. “I offered you one answer.  But I know you’re in the middle of something right now, I actually meant you to see that text when you got out. Want to do a video when you’re finished?"

“Only if you promise not to wear anything to bed.”  He can hear Porthos laughing as he hangs up the call.

An hour later, Porthos is snug in bed, propped up against his pillows. He takes a minute to realize that these days, after the first blush of freedom, it feels wrong to sprawl out over Aramis’ side of the bed.  There’s the familiar tone of the incoming Skype call and then, on the screen, is Aramis’ tired, beloved face.

“You look like hell, babe. Gorgeous hell, but still."

Aramis rakes his hand through his hair, “I’m making ‘exhausted’ work. At least today."

“So I’m glad we’re doing this on video, I get to see your face when I tell you that I know why Athos has that sign on his door."

Aramis looks confused. “To get delivery people to knock."

“Yes,” Porthos says, patiently.  “Because Dug is scared of the doorbell.”  Aramis’ mouth falls open.

“The… the dog is scared of the doorbell."

“Athos says he runs to hide under the spare bed and it takes hours to get him out.  He asks them to leave deliveries on the mat so they’re not stuck waiting for five minutes while he puts Dug the escape artist behind a locked door.  Which I guess we already knew."

“Now will you tell me how you figured this out?"

Porthos scrubs his hand across the back of his neck. “I might have had him over for dinner?"

Aramis lets out an enormous bark of laughter and then claps his hands over his mouth, clearly worried he’s startled his neighbors. “You said you weren’t going to take him out!"

“I’m not! It wasn’t like that, Aramis. He was in the lobby with Dug when I got back with the groceries and they both looked like they could use a home cooked meal and some company besides each other.  Besides, you know I wouldn’t do that without you."

“Porthos, I’m the one who suggested it!"

“I know but— I don’t know how to explain it. I want you here. I think you’d like him, too. And I like having him as a friend. I’m not in this just to get laid."

“Not to say you don’t want to get laid.”  Aramis’ eyebrows jog up and down and his expression is a shameless leer.

“Never as much as when I’m looking at your face, babe.” Porthos blows him a kiss and spares one for Victoria, who has come over to knead at his shoulder.

“Is it my face you’re thinking about?"

“Mostly it’s those jeans.”

Aramis laughs, long and hard. “Will you be awake for a few more minutes?"

“I can be."

“I have a thing I have to go do quickly, but I’d love to tuck you in properly."

Porthos smiles, soft and far more sentimental than he might like to admit.  “I’ll be right here."

“Good. Get comfortable and when I come back, I’ll tell you a bedtime story.”  Aramis leans in close to the webcam and blows a kiss.

“Love you, Aramis."

“And I love you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Porthos smiles and clicks the “End” button. These trips don’t happen very often, every couple of years at most, but they’re always hard.  One of Porthos’ favorite things about their relationship is how hard he and Aramis have worked to find a way to keep his book tours from killing them.

When Aramis is away, they schedule dates as often as they do when he’s home, if not more. They have dinner together if they can, and send emails if they can’t. They never go to bed without at least texting a good-night message. During the calls, they keep up to date with the little things in each other’s days, not just how much they miss each other. That’s said, of course, more than once. But Aramis knowing about how much Porthos is irritated by one of the guys on another crew or Porthos knowing about how nice Aramis’ driver was in his current city makes them feel more like they’re living their lives together rather than living separate lives and calling only to talk about how lonely they are.

After Aramis comes home, Porthos knows they’ll both need an adjustment period. The first day or so they don’t want to be more than a breath apart, but the week after that they each need time to get used to living with someone else again. They know that patience and understanding will keep them from snapping at each other for leaving dishes in the sink (Aramis) or clothes on the floor (Porthos).

It took time, and they know they’ll never stop learning how to be good for each other, but on nights like tonight, when they’re making it work, being there for one another, and still being so in love, Porthos is proud of them both.

Most often they communicate through email and text, calls when they can, but sometimes - if the timing works out - they get a proper good-night call. Sometimes it really is just a bedtime story, something Aramis has been working on and wants to try on his favorite audience.  Porthos will curl up in bed and listen to Aramis’ voice washing over him, bringing worlds to life.  Sometimes it’s a candlelit date across thousands of miles, usually ending in Aramis talking them both through a scorching orgasm and them laughing at each other through the clean-up.  Either way, if the time zones work out, they fall asleep with their laptops still on.  On Porthos’ favorite nights, he wakes after a couple of hours and just watches Aramis’ own sleeping face in the dark.

He’s not sure which kind of call he’s hoping for tonight, but weighing the pros and cons sounds like a lovely way to while away the time before Aramis calls back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the time Athos drops Dug off early Monday morning, Porthos has cleared the dirty socks from the bathroom floor to remove temptation and stocked up on freeze-dried liver treats. He’s looking forward to spending time lounging on the sofa together and he’s got plans to take Dug the long way around the park. He’s got this covered.
> 
> He did not anticipate seeing Athos in a suit. He’s shocked enough to be off-balance and Dug’s enthusiasm nearly knocks him to the floor. Porthos kneels and greets the dog properly and tries to get himself together. When he looks back up, any hope of that flies out the window. It’s a matter of chance, really, which inane thing running through his head actually comes out of his mouth. “I like your tie."

By the time Athos drops Dug off early Monday morning, Porthos has cleared the dirty socks from the bathroom floor to remove temptation and stocked up on freeze-dried liver treats. He’s looking forward to spending time lounging on the sofa together and he’s got plans to take Dug the long way around the park. He’s got this covered.

He did not anticipate seeing Athos in a suit.  He’s shocked enough to be off-balance and Dug’s enthusiasm nearly knocks him to the floor.  Porthos kneels and greets the dog properly and tries to get himself together. When he looks back up, any hope of that flies out the window. It’s a matter of chance, really, which inane thing running through his head actually comes out of his mouth. “I like your tie."

It’s not a lie; he really does like it. It’s silk, steel gray, and tied in a broad knot but left a bit loose.  His top button is undone and there’s a little patch of skin showing. Porthos very briefly wonders what that skin smells like.

“Normally it’s not quite this formal but the major stakeholder is coming in for a status meeting and I’m in charge of the presentation. I've brought some food, and there's a note in the bag with my number."

Porthos looks down at Dug again, ruffling his ears and hoping he’s keeping his cool when he says, “Well, Dug, I think your dad’s gonna knock ‘em dead at his meeting.”  He looks back up at Athos.  “Good luck.”  He tries to smile in a way which is neighborly and friendly and not too much. He’s afraid that what comes across is how much he’s starting to really like this man and how attractive he finds Athos in that suit.

Athos steps back into the doorway, pausing only to pat Dug on the head and hand over the bag.  “Yes. Well. Thank you."

 

> From:  Aramis (personal) <writerundercover@gmail.com>
> 
> To:  Porthos <p.d.vallon@gmail.com>
> 
> Date: September 14, 2015  10:12am
> 
> Subject: Re: That could have gone better
> 
> My Porthos, my only, my love, are you telling me that in addition to owning the most adorable dog in all creation our neighbor also possesses sartorial splendor sufficient to render you speechless?  I'd make a joke about being jealous, but you know I'm not, and also I don't want to make you fret. Let it suffice to say that I shall be kept warm all day by daydreams of you taking that tie off of him.  Slowly. With those gorgeous hands of yours.
> 
> At this point, I'm torn as to whether I want you to wrap it over his mouth so it barely muffles his noises and the silk gets hot and wet with his breath, or if I want you to wrap it around his wrists and tie them to the headboard so you can take him apart unimpeded.
> 
> Why don't you decide, and we can talk about it tonight before I leave for my reading.
> 
> All my days are yours,
> 
> Aramis

> From:  Porthos <p.d.vallon@gmail.com>
> 
> To:  Aramis (personal) <writerundercover@gmail.com>
> 
> Date: September 14, 2015  12:14 pm
> 
> Subject: Re: That could have gone better
> 
> Dirty pool, babe. I think I'll take option number three.  The one where I take that tie and wrap it around and around the base of your cock and then pull your balls up close to the shaft and tie those as well.  Then I just let you sit and watch while he and I entertain ourselves for an hour or so, and if you moved from the chair, we'd stop. Every once in a while we'd stop to check and see how hard you were, to see if you were aching yet.  Not that we'd take it easy on you if you were, but I might spare that poor cock of yours a pat just to say I was sorry.
> 
> Hope lunch with the publisher goes well.  I love you.
> 
> -P

 

> From:  Porthos <p.d.vallon@gmail.com>
> 
> To:  Aramis (personal) <writerundercover@gmail.com>
> 
> Date: September 14, 2015  12:16pm
> 
> Subject: Re: That could have gone better
> 
> Fuck, why do I always forget that you're better at that than I am?  I'm supposed to be the one good with words, but you just blew me out of the water.
> 
> Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more,
> 
> Aramis

> Incoming Message
> 
> 12:17pm
> 
> From: Porthos
> 
> Really? Usually, I just blow you in the living room.

> Incoming Message
> 
> 12:18pm
> 
> From: Aramis
> 
> Aaaand the balance is restored.

 

He hears from Aramis a few more times during the day, just the standard, perfect background noise of their lives, but not a word from Athos.  Porthos isn't surprised, really.  He knows that there are meetings and there's work to be done and really, they're barely friends. There's no reason for someone to text their dog-sitter less than a day after they've dropped the dog off.  None of that stops Porthos from checking his phone randomly and remembering how Athos looked in that suit.

He's thinking that the images will fade, that he'll stop thinking so much about Athos. But when dinner and evening walks are over, when Porthos has talked to Aramis and curled up on the sofa with Dug, Victoria draped across the back behind them, that tickle in the back of his brain is still there.

"We should send your dad a note," he tells Dug.  The dog's tail flops twice, adding a new layer of hair to the upholstery.  Dug braces his back legs against the arm of the sofa and pushes off, stretching out on his back and resting his head just above Porthos' knee.  "How is it you're taking up more of the couch than the grown man?"   Dug's tongue lolls out to the side.  "You're laughing at me, aren't you?"  Dug sneezes, shaking his head.  "Yes, I do think you'd do that. I'm also pretty sure you're just waiting for me to decide you're cute enough to get a treat."  Dug's mouth snaps shut and his ears flick up.

Porthos can't help laughing.  He fishes his phone out of his pocket and takes a couple of pictures of Dug. After cropping his own crotch out of the shots, he sends them to Athos with a note saying, "Dug says he misses you, and we both hope your meetings went well."

 

> Incoming Message
> 
> 8:17pm
> 
> From: Athos Across the Hall
> 
> Tell him he's not fooling me. He would leave me in a heartbeat if he thought someone else would give him more treats.

> Incoming Message
> 
> 8:18pm
> 
> From: Athos Across the Hall
> 
> Thank you both. It was a long and trying day and I needed that smile quite badly.

> Outgoing Message
> 
> 8:19pm
> 
> To: Athos Across the Hall
> 
> That doesn't sound good. Anything I can do? More pictures of Dug? A sympathetic ear who hasn't heard it all already?

Porthos is expecting to be brushed off.  Athos doesn't seem like the type to unburden himself to a neighbor he barely knows.  He seems more the type to just sit quietly in the dark with a stiff drink until the day starts to ebb away.  But still, even knowing he'll get a polite dismissal, he wants to make the offer.  Porthos has a pathological need to remind people that they're not alone.

So he's not startled when the phone buzzes again a few minutes later, but he's surprised as hell to see that it's not a text coming through.  It's a phone call.  From Athos.

"If you were serious, a sympathetic ear would be—I would appreciate it."

"'Course I was serious. It's something I don't joke about.  That and Forty-niners football.” He may live in Baltimore, but Porthos has always been a ‘Niners boy.

"Well, if the paper I read on the plane this morning was any indication, Forty-niners football seems to be doing fine handling its own jokes."

“Now that was rough, Athos. Didn't anyone tell you not to be mean to the guy in charge of feeding your dog?"

There's a huff from the other end that's not quite a laugh.  "You could no more deny that dog than you could abandon your team in their hour of need."

"Ah, that's true, too true."  

They’ve got the small talk out of the way, the pleasantries. There's a breath of quiet before Athos speaks again. "I don't— I never do this. I’m not even sure why I’m doing it now. Perhaps it’s just that if I were at home I’d unburden myself to Dug and you’re the closet to him right now."

Dug rolls over, digging his nails into Porthos’ belly for leverage.  “If I were any closer we’d be fused.”

Another huff of laughter from Athos. "Most days it’s just keeping moving forward, making sure the developers are doing their work, but sometimes there are days like today when we need to present our progress.”  Porthos can hear Athos drag his hand across his face. “I always forget how frustrating it is to try and explain to executives how long this work takes. They want every step to have a bell or a light or something to show that work is happening."

“And I’m guessing you’ve got your own way of tracking it, but that’s not good enough for them."

There’s a tinkle like ice cubes in a glass of liquid and the sound of a swallow. “Yes. Exactly. So instead of showing a demonstration of our progress to this point and how we’ve hit all our points, I spent an hour and a half defending this team of developers. It is my personal nightmare that someone taped that meeting."

Porthos slides down on the couch, propping his head on the back and scratching at Dug’s ear. “Not up for a memento of your morning?"

Athos’ sigh is long-suffering. “Good lord, no. The developers might find out I’ve said nice things about them."

“Let me guess, normally you’re the guy who doesn’t socialize but somehow knows everything they’re doing?  You’re the one who sees they’re in trouble and sends someone smarter than them to get a cup of coffee at the same time so they start talking about the problem in the break room."

There’s a note of surprise when Athos says, “I— yes.  Or at least I try. I’m quite invested in my maintaining my image. It’s built on frighteningly well-informed personal disinterest and professional mentoring behind the scenes."

Porthos laughs to think about Athos skulking about in hallways finding out what his team members need the most. “Oh, I don’t know. I think it might be okay. Take it from a guy at the bottom of the pyramid, nothing makes you want to work harder for the boss than to know that they’ve been sticking up for your team for no personal benefit."

Athos swallows again. “Well. As long as you’re sure it won’t make me the office softie."

“No. I’m sure of it. Though, if you want, I could tell them about how you are with Dug. That would sink your battleship for sure."

In the extended pause that follows, Porthos has just enough time to worry he’s said the wrong thing, gone too far in this fragile new closeness.

“Porthos, I believe you’re a bit of an evil mastermind."

Unable to help himself, Porthos lets out a huge belly laugh. “No one will believe you. That’s the best part."

There’s another pause, but this one is calmer.  Porthos isn’t sure he’s actually helped, he and Athos didn’t really talk about anything important, he doesn’t feel like Athos even really got anything off his chest, but his voice sounds less pinched, so Porthos is calling it a win.  He decides to take a risk.

“Plus you got to wear that suit, and it looked fantastic, so it wasn’t a total waste of a day."

Athos pauses and when he speaks his voice is tense again. “Where are my manners? I’m not the only one out of town right now, how is your boyfriend?  Where is he this week?"

Porthos feels like something just slotted into place. And it makes perfect sense, of course. Athos would shut down any flirting if he thinks it comes from Porthos being disloyal. Now may not be the best time for this, but Porthos doesn’t want this in the air any longer.

“He’s great. He’s in San Antonio tonight and heading for Dallas in the morning. And he’s terribly jealous that I get to hang out with Dug, also that I got to have dinner with you."

He can almost hear Athos’ mouth snap shut. “I beg your pardon?"

“Yeah, he was quite put out that the - how did he put it now? - the third most attractive man in the building came to dinner and he wasn’t here to introduce himself."

Athos makes a slightly strangled noise that might be a laugh. “I—,” the pause between words seems to stretch on forever before Athos’ voice comes back, to Porthos it sounds — polite. “I’m sure we’ll meet, after all we’re neighbors.” Porthos keeps quiet, not jumping at the chance to set something up. He wants to ask Athos to join their calls, to come to dinner, to—He doesn’t say of it, he lets Athos sit with the new reality that Porthos isn’t angling for infidelity.

When Athos speaks again, his voice is back to pinched. “I need to get some sleep, now that the meetings are over we still have to get a week’s worth of work finished."

Porthos scratches at Dug’s belly and smiles. “Good luck, you know where I am if you want to talk again."

There’s a soft ‘hmm’ noise from Athos. “Best I don’t get too used to this. Good night, Porthos.”  He pauses for half a breath.  “Good night, Dug.” Then there’s nothing and when Porthos looks at his phone, he sees the call has ended.

He'd tried to get the point across, but Porthos isn’t entirely sure he made Athos feel better about their flirting and conversations. Still, the point of the call was to take Athos’ mind off the day and they certainly accomplished that.  With a smile curling one corner of his mouth, Porthos takes a picture of Dug, curled up in the corner of the sofa with his tail over his nose, and sends it to Athos.  The caption under the picture just says “‘Night Dad."

 

> From:  Aramis (personal) <writerundercover@gmail.com>
> 
> To:  Porthos <p.d.vallon@gmail.com>
> 
> Date: September 15, 2015  10:45am
> 
> Subject:  Texas and everything after
> 
> My love, I’m afraid I don’t even have it in me to be pithy and clever this morning. This tour has finally sucked the creativity from my life and I can only hope that you will still love me even when we are penniless and I am forced to sell my pencils just to keep us in food. The only bright spot to this day is that the young woman who is the contact at this venue is as unmoved by my now-dead genius as you are and instead of staring at me in awe she is muttering catty asides about her coworkers to me.  I am entranced. Never fear, you’re still paramount in my heart, even though I know that my place in yours is threatened daily by Dug.
> 
> I don’t blame you; I might pass you over for those eyes as well. Tell me how he is. Tell me how you are. Tell me anything to remind me of the bright spots that still exist somewhere outside of Texas. 
> 
> The words written on my heart are all your name,
> 
> Aramis

> From:  Porthos <p.d.vallon@gmail.com>
> 
> To:  Aramis (personal) <writerundercover@gmail.com>
> 
> Date: September 15, 2015  12:33 pm
> 
> Subject:  Re: Texas and everything after
> 
> Babe, you know I love you, but you are such a terrible fucking liar. If all the creativity had been sucked from your life, you wouldn’t have just swooned all over my inbox like that. That’s Aramis creativity if I’ve ever seen it. Only you could manage to make a day in Texas sound like you were some dying damsel stuck in her bed.  Plus, even ignoring that I work too, you shit, I saw your last advance check. Our fridge will stay stocked for a good while yet.  
> 
> Dug and I actually talked to his dad last night. No matter how much you hate Texas, you should be glad you’re not in his shoes, poor bastard had to deal with suits all day. I think I flustered him again, but it turned out to be for the best, I got a chance to clear the air a bit.  
> 
> It’s a good day here, babe.  One of those where if I were lucky you might bring me lunch and we’d spend the hour eating outside and enjoying the sun.  I miss you. I love you.
> 
> -P
> 
> p.s. You don’t even *use* pencils, asshole.

> From:  Aramis (personal) <writerundercover@gmail.com>
> 
> To:  Porthos <p.d.vallon@gmail.com>
> 
> Date: September 15, 2015  12:35
> 
> Subject:  Re: Texas and everything after
> 
> Assuming you are on your lunch hour now, would you like to eat with me, my love?

 

Porthos is just settling himself against the strut of what will be the kitchen wall of the house when the video chat chime rings.   

“There’s my favorite literary genius."

“Porthos, my love, when the story of my life is written it will be said that you were what inspired me to keep on.  Even in the face of Texas."

From behind Aramis’ shoulder there’s an indelicate snort.  “Yeah, someone thought that was as much bullshit as I did,” Porthos says.

Aramis laughs and tilts the iPad so that Porthos can see the person behind him. “Porthos, this is Elizabeth.  Elizabeth, say hello to the light of my sorry little life.”  The girl looks up from under a mass of dark curls and waggles her fingers in greeting.  Aramis rolls his eyes. “Yes, she’s a scintillating conversationalist."

“She’s in charge of your coffee today, Aramis.  Best be nice to her."

“Smart man,” Elizabeth says and then stands and walks away, leaving them to talk.

Aramis grins at her departing back. “She’s a delight.”  He turns back to Porthos. “But not nearly as much as you.  Tell me everything."

“Nothing much to tell. Told you I talked to Athos last night."

Aramis’ eyes light up. “Yes, you did mention that."

“You’re terrible,” Porthos grins. “Yeah. I get the feeling he doesn’t confide in people much? Doesn’t lean on people? And, like I said, he’d had a terrible day,     lots of meetings with lots of suits."

A delicate shudder passes over Aramis’ entire upper body.   

“Yeah, I figured you’d sympathize. I know you hate that, too.  So I just let him vent and tell me about it and I did my best to be sympathetic. Sometimes all people need is an ear. And I got to tell him how nice he looked in that suit."

Aramis’ eyes are dancing now. “Did you? Did you tell him all of our nefarious plans for the various bits of his suit?"

“No, I told you I wasn’t going to push, wasn’t even going to try and move it at all without you.  Still, I did get to reassure him you weren’t going to fly into a jealous rage at the idea of me telling him how nice he looked."

He tells Aramis about the rest of the conversation, about the good night note he’d sent from Dug. “I think I’ve lived with you too long, I don’t even know what normal flirting is anymore. But I do know I want to keep from spooking him until you can come home and meet him. It’s one thing to tell him that you don’t mind me having dinner with him, it’s a whole other thing to bring up--,” Porthos waves his hand between the two of them, hoping Aramis understands he’s encompassing their relationship and all the possible configurations and implications of adding a third. “I — I don’t know how to put it. I just like him."

The look on Aramis’ face is more naked and honest than it’s been for the entire conversation. At this moment, he’s not the famous author or the raconteur who entertains hundreds every night. Right now he’s just Porthos’ Aramis. He’s the guy who tucks his warm feet under Porthos’ cold ones at night and sings Journey in the shower.  “Well. Then it sounds like I should meet him. And if he’s unsure, you’re making the right choice to hold back a bit.”  A hint of his usual smile glints. “As impossible as it is to hold your charm back.”   

Porthos laughs and says, quietly, “Thanks, babe."

“I love you,” Aramis says, tracing over the screen where Porthos’ eyebrows are.  Porthos touches his fingers to his lips and then to his own screen and Aramis wishes he could feel that kiss.  “Tell me. Tell me about liking him."

They don’t have long, Porthos has to get back to work soon, but they have a few minutes.   They’ve talked before, after Porthos and Athos first met, about how attractive Athos is.  How Porthos sometimes thinks about those long fingers in his hair and how he wants to see what those eyes look like with the pupils so blown there’s only the thinnest ring of blue.  

This time they talk instead about how exhausted Athos had sounded, like he’d clearly put all his energy into keeping the bosses off his team’s back. Porthos talks about how Athos had joked about not wanting the team to find out that he’d stuck up for them.  He thinks Athos probably does that a lot, defend someone or stand up for someone, and he never wants anyone to know.  

“I think he wants them all to believe he’s this cranky guy you should never invite to lunch, when really he’s working so hard to make sure things are as good as they can be for them. I think he’s kind. Just a genuinely good man. And I can’t decide if he doesn’t want them to know because he doesn’t want them to feel beholden, or because he’s worried if they know they’ll try to take advantage."

Aramis makes a thoughtful hum.  “Probably a little of both. Most likely he’s had both happen in the past and he’s not even sure what he’s defending against now, just that this is the safest for him."

“That’s— that’s it yeah, he’s not skittish or shy, he’s not even unfriendly. He’s just guarded."

“And you, because your heart is too big for four men and you can’t stand to see someone suffer, you want to find out what’s behind it so you can fix it."

Porthos grins, one side of his mouth curling up.  He scratches at the hinge of his jaw and says, “Well, I can’t help it, I like it when he smiles."

“I wonder if you know how attractive your boundless compassion is.” Aramis has his chin propped in his hand and for a second Porthos forgets they’re not talking across the dinner table. "I’m sure together we can get some of those smiles for ourselves instead of letting Dug have them all. For now you need to go and get back to work. I’m going to go on with the rest of my day. I’ve forgotten what’s even happening at this point.  Will I speak to you tonight?"

“Hmm, will you have a bedtime story for me?”  Porthos’ eyebrows jog up and down and Aramis laughs.  

“You know everyone thinks I’m the terrible pervert in this relationship? I should tell them someday, what you’re like behind closed doors."

“Aramis, we’ve talked about this. No one will believe you."

“I know,” Aramis’ voice is a piteous wail. “I have so many stories about your filth and no audience."

Porthos chuckles.  “You really do.  Remember when we were first dating and I couldn’t keep my hands off you for five minutes-"

“Unlike now, when you can sometimes make it whole hours."

“We were on our way to my mom’s and we stopped for breakfast?"

“Yes, I remember, and god, you’re right. No one will believe you molested me in a Denny’s parking lot.” Aramis sighs and rolls eyes. “The most appalling part of that entire display was how pleased you were with the Grand Slam pun.”  He looks at Porthos’ face.  “You still are, aren’t you?” he says with a noise of disgust. “Terrible."

Porthos shrugs one shoulder and doesn’t look chastised at all.  

“I love you, pervert. I’ll talk to you tonight,” Aramis says.

“You too, babe.” Porthos blows a quick kiss and ends the call. He’s not due back at work for another two minutes.  He spends them with his head back against a strut, imagining what dinner with Aramis and Athos would be like. The smile stays with him all day.

The remainder of the week passes almost without Porthos noticing.  Every night he sends a text to Athos with a picture of Dug, sometimes of Dug and Victoria. Each time he gets a reply, sometimes clever, sometimes warm, always short. He doesn’t get another phone call.  

Thursday is miserable. It’s raining, but not enough to call a halt to work. Porthos comes home muddy and frustrated that the rain seems to have stopped just when he’s able to spend the rest of the evening indoors. Still, it’s nice for the dog.

He takes Dug for a quick walk around the block and then another long one after an early dinner. When the dishes are done, they both flop down onto the sofa to catch up on the DVR backlog a bit. Dug comes and takes his customary position to Porthos’ right and Victoria, who doesn’t like to be predictable, settles on the arm of the sofa just past Dug. The tip of her tail is flopping a bit, but her ears look relaxed. She’s a princess, to be sure, and she’d never admit it -- because she’s Aramis’ princess -- but Victora loves Porthos. It’s starting to look like she loves Dug as well.

“Hey,” Porthos says, scratching at Dug’s belly. “Your dad comes home tonight. I’m gonna miss you.” If this were a Disney movie, Dug would look into Porthos’ eyes and lay his head on Porthos’ lap. He might lick Porthos’ hand.  

This is not a Disney movie.  

Dug takes the end of Porthos’ statement as a signal to change position.  He braces himself against Porthos’ lap to move himself and stand up.  In the process of finding the best possible napping posture he plants one foot directly on Porthos’ groin. Nothing drives home the size of a dog like having their weight centered over your balls.  Porthos grunts and shoves Dug to the side.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says.

No one is more surprised than Porthos when the phone rings and it’s Athos.

“Dug and I were just talking about you."

“I shudder to think. I am running later than I anticipated, but I was going to stop for take-out. Can I feed you tonight, in exchange for you putting up with my dog?"

Porthos laughs. “I’m not putting up with him, I told you I like having him here. And don’t worry about food, we ate early tonight.”  

“I’m getting on the parking shuttle now, I should be there in just under an hour."

“We’ll see you when you get here,” Porthos says, and doesn’t miss how even this mundane conversation has him smiling and absently scratching behind Dug’s ears.

 

Athos is right on time. There’s no question as to who is at the door, but Porthos’ heart skips a beat anyway. “Hi,” he says, smiling at Athos.

Quite probably Athos looked very put-together when he got to work that morning. He probably still looked quite sharp when he got on the plane in the evening. But sometime between the safety briefing during take-off and arriving at Porthos’ and Aramis’ door, Athos has come a bit undone.  

His tie is so loose it’s hitting him below the collarbone,  too much work even to take it off. One side of his hair is flatter than the other, as though he’d had the window seat and fallen asleep against the glass, looking out over the sky. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone and Porthos stares again at that patch of skin. Athos is still holding on to the handle of his carry-on as though it has become permanently attached to his fingers over the course of this day.

Porthos wants nothing more than to bundle Athos into a hot shower and make him some tea and then let him relax on the couch. Porthos wants to take care of him. This is so bad.

“Long day?” he says and almost winces with how inane it sounds.

“Unspeakably.”  At the sound of his voice, Dug startles and jumps off the couch, diving for the door.  Like the first time Athos had come to this door, he drops to one knee to greet his dog. He doesn’t say a word, just digs his fingers into the fur behind Dug’s ears and rests his forehead against the dog’s. After a few long seconds he says, so quietly Porthos almost doesn’t hear it, “Hey, buddy."

It’s so unlike Athos’ normal patterns of speech, so unguarded and almost young. Porthos feels another pang for him.

“Anything I can do?” he asks and Athos shakes his head.

“Thank you, no.” He stands and smiles at Porthos. “You’ve already done the best thing possible by making sure this monster had someplace comfortable and warm as his home for the week."

“One more week, yeah?"

Athos seems a little startled that Porthos would remember this detail. “Yes, just the one. We’re finished with the development and roll-out, just need to spend some time transitioning to the local team. If I’m very lucky, it might even be a short week, but I wouldn’t count on it."

Porthos scrubs at the back of his neck. “Any chance you still need a dog-sitter, then?"

“I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.” Athos’ brows draw together.

“Nah, I told you, I like the company. The princess and I rattle around here by ourselves and my boyfriend won’t be home for another ten days.” Victoria takes her cue to wind around Porthos’ feet, shoot a dismissive look at Athos, and wander back into the living room.  

“At least let me thank you properly,” Athos says. The invitation is sincere, so Porthos wonders at the tightness to his voice. “You missed out on the fabulously greasy burrito I picked up and ate in the car,” Athos’ grin is wry but soft. “So in lieu of that, let me feed you properly.  Saturday?”  

He seems to catch on to how unsure he sounds and straightens up properly. “If you’re not busy. Possibly you and your boyfriend have plans.”  It feels to Porthos like Athos has put a layer of his armor back on and it makes him sadder than he might have expected.

“I would love that.”  Porthos tries to make his smile as warm as possible without looking creepy. He reaches to the side table and gets Dug’s leash. “We don’t usually plan things for weekend evenings, he’s busy with readings. And it would give me a chance to sneak in a Dug fix before he comes back again on Monday.”

Porthos clips Dug’s leash on and hands it to Athos. “So, I’ll see you Saturday then."

Athos nods and heads across the hall, with his carry-on and his dog and his uncertain smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I ought to apologize for the Denny's joke. But I'm not going to.
> 
> What I am going to do is thank my friend John for letting me borrow his cat. Victoria in the real world is exactly that big a princess and exactly that adored. She's the kind of cat who backs up to you so you can pet her without her having to acknowledge your presence, but also snuggles if you're feeling down. Big fluffy Turkish Angora. Total brat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning it takes Porthos almost a minute to get his phone at an angle that catches both his own face and Victoria’s white fluffy head on the pillow next to him. She flicks one ear when she hears the click of the camera but otherwise doesn’t stir. Porthos checks the picture and sees his own sleepy smile looking back. It is exactly the kind of thing that he hopes will help get Aramis through the day. He sends it and then stretches, groans, and gets up to start his day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done! Thanks for sticking with me, I love these guys and this has been a lot of fun.

> From:  Porthos <p.d.vallon@gmail.com>
> 
> To:  Aramis (personal) <writerundercover@gmail.com>
> 
> Date: September 17, 2015  10:33 pm
> 
> Subject:  Unexpected
> 
> Hey babe. Hope things are okay there, I know you’re frazzled, getting so close to the end. I’m here, whether you’re a day or a week away.
> 
> Athos came and picked Dug up just now. He looked even more like hell than you do at the end of these tours. He needs looking after, and the fact that I think that is probably a sign that I’m sunk.
> 
> Still, it’s not all dark and dismal. He invited me over for dinner on Saturday. He says he wants to thank me for taking care of Dug. I don’t think he realizes that I like Dug’s company so much I’d kidnap him if I thought I wouldn’t get caught.
> 
> So the day started with rain and mud and ended with an invite to dinner with Dug and his dad. Plus, I have the most amazing boyfriend- smart and funny and with the world’s most perfect ass. It doesn’t suck to be me right now.
> 
> The itinerary that Michelle sent me says you’re in Boston tonight. Stay warm. I love you.
> 
> -P

> From:  Aramis (personal) <writerundercover@gmail.com>
> 
> To:  Porthos  <p.d.vallon@gmail.com>
> 
> Date: September 18, 2015  12:04 am
> 
> Subject:  Re: Unexpecte
> 
> You’re probably expecting some clever dramatic answer, but I’m too tired, and you don’t need that. Instead, I’m going to point out to you that he’s comfortable enough with you to invite you into his home and let you take care of an animal he loves.
> 
> You might be sunk, but I think you’re not the only one. My darling, you are impossible to resist. The kindest man with the biggest heart. Even if you’re only destined to be friends, I think you have years of walks with Dug and dinners with Athos to look forward to.
> 
> As for me, I have only this hotel bed to look forward to, and it is far too cold without you. When we near the end of these trips the days seem to inch by. Still, I am one day closer than yesterday, five minutes closer than I was when I started this email. I love you like the ocean.
> 
> I were but little happy if I could say how much,
> 
> Aramis

The next morning it takes Porthos almost a minute to get his phone at an angle that catches both his own face and Victoria’s white fluffy head on the pillow next to him. She flicks one ear when she hears the click of the camera but otherwise doesn’t stir. Porthos checks the picture and sees his own sleepy smile looking back. It is exactly the kind of thing that he hopes will help get Aramis through the day. He sends it and then stretches, groans, and gets up to start his day.

 

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Aramis
> 
> 9:27am
> 
> You horrible wretch. I saw this and started wibbling and now I have to go to breakfast with my publisher with my eyes all puffy.  

> Outgoing Message
> 
> To: Aramis
> 
> 9:32am
> 
> [image]

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Aramis
> 
> 9:34am
> 
> I wish I could say that pictures of you blowing kisses at me doesn’t sway me, but you’d know me for the liar I am. I love you.

Porthos considers sending him a picture that is decidedly not safe for breakfast with the publisher big-wigs but decides against it.  Still, just the thought keeps him smiling through lunch.

He sleeps late on Saturday, stretching extravagantly when he finally wakes at quarter to ten. If Aramis were home, they’d make an enormous breakfast and bring it back to bed. When they finished eating, they’d move the dishes out of striking range and make slow, unhurried love. Aramis would laugh when he rolled Porthos on top of him only to feel a rogue fork dig into his back and Porthos would soothe it with his mouth.  

With Aramis away, Porthos and Victoria stare at each other for a few minutes trying to decide how to spend the day. In the end, they decide on laundry and grocery shopping. Porthos stops to pick up two bottles of wine, one red and one white, to take to Athos’. His mother didn’t raise him to go empty-handed when you’re invited to dinner and he’s not about to start now.

He hits the gym and has lunch with a workout buddy before heading home, feeling like perhaps his bed is far too cold at night, but life is not all bad.

 

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Athos Across the Hall
> 
> 1:35pm
> 
> Dug hopes you’re still coming for dinner. If so, we’ll see you at 7?

Porthos smiles and tries to ignore how his heart lurches. This is not a date, and his body needs to stop treating it like it is.

 

> Outgoing Message
> 
> To: Athos Across the Hall
> 
> 1:36pm
> 
> Tell Dug I wouldn’t miss it. See you then.

 

He stops at the little independent pet shop on the way home and picks up a toy for Dug. He tries hard not to think of it as a bribe.

All the ground he’s made convincing his body and brain that this is not a date goes flying out the window when it comes time to get dressed. After staring at Victoria for a minute and getting no advice from her, Porthos decides that if this isn’t a date, he’s not going to dress like it is. Athos has seen what he normally wears on the weekend, and anything else would be trying too hard.  He leaves his jeans on but swaps out his t-shirt for a clean pullover in a dark wine color.

He’s just shaking his head at himself, thinking of how Aramis would be teasing him if he were there when he hears his phone buzz.

 

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Aramis
> 
> 6:40pm
> 
> It’s just dinner. Breathe. Wear the claret-colored henley. I love you.

Porthos tries in vain not to smile fondly at the message and touch his screen as though he could feel Aramis through it.  He snaps a picture of himself in the shirt, blowing a kiss.

It’s spot-on 7 pm when Porthos knocks gently at Athos’ door, wine in hand and the least nervous smile he can manage.  Athos answers, wiping his hands off on a dishtowel. “Right on time."

Dug comes barreling in from the hallway and jumps enthusiastically at Porthos’ legs. “Hey! Do we jump?” Porthos says, and Dug drops to an excited but still passable ‘sit.’  

“Dug, let him in,” Athos says and nudges the dog back from the doorway.  Porthos comes across the threshold and offers the wine.  

“I wasn’t sure what was on the menu.”  

“Roast chicken? With potatoes and green beans, I hope that’s okay.” When Porthos smiles and nods Athos continues, “Perfect. There’s a bottle-opener on the sideboard in the living room. Would you pour me a glass of that?” Athos points to the bottle of red wine.

“Red? With chicken?” Porthos grins at him. Athos rolls his eyes.

“I believe that there are some wines that can enhance the flavor of food, and vice versa. I have no doubt that the notes and flavors of the right wine would raise that simple chicken to something gourmet. And certainly there are people who would shudder to think of introducing a wine that doesn’t complement the food that well."

“There’s a ‘but’ coming,” Porthos says.

Athos flashes a smile, and it’s dry humor hit Porthos like a truck. “But I don’t care for white wine; I don’t give a damn what it does for my chicken."

Porthos smiles. “Okay then.”  He puts the bottle of white on the counter and takes the red into the combination living/dining room. Along the way, he takes the opportunity to look around.  There are pictures, more than Porthos would have expected for Athos. The atrocious painting is flanked by framed snapshots of people who look enough like Athos that Porthos assumes they’re family.

There’s an older woman with Athos’ smile holding the hand of an older man with Athos’ eyes. They’re seated at a café somewhere that’s either in Europe or doing a good job of pretending to be in Europe.  Above them is a picture of a brightly smiling Athos and what is clearly a puppy aged Dug.

Porthos stops and blinks. No, that’s not Athos. He can be forgiven for making the mistake, their features are so close, and they share the same eyes.  Dug is staring at the camera with an oddly subdued expression. It’s so unlike his normal tongue-lolling smile it almost startles a laugh out of Porthos.   

To the right of that picture is one of Athos, and yes, it’s definitely Athos this time, seated on an overstuffed sofa with a small blonde child on either side. Athos’ eyes look relaxed in a way Porthos has never seen and for a moment he feels a rush of gratitude to these unknown girls.  

Porthos shakes his head at his own ridiculousness and finishes pouring the wine. On his way back into the kitchen, he looks over the books on Athos’ shelves.  He’s not surprised to see well-loved copies of books most other people only pretend to have read.  He is surprised to see half a shelf filled with very familiar covers. The laugh it startles out of him is loud enough for Athos to look up from the food preparation.

“Everything alright?"

Grinning, Porthos runs a finger against the spine of one of the books. “You actually read these?"

Athos looks like he’s trying not to appear caught out. “I do, yes. I know a great number of people look down their noses at formulaic crime procedurals, but I rather like these. And I appreciate that they’re in Europe, not yet another gritty American city, living in Baltimore has given me enough of that. Though I suppose with the popularity of the genre, it would be nearly impossible not to make them feel a bit like CSI: Paris."

Porthos chuckles again and pulls one from the middle of the shelf. He turns the book to show the photo on the back.  Porthos holds the book up so Athos can see.

“The author, yes,” Athos says. "I think he’s managed to elevate these above their peers in the genre. The detective is smart but not superior, and the author uses the city as one of the characters. Have you read them?"

“In a manner of speaking. I was thinking about letting you both figure it out the hard way, but that’s only funny on TV. In the real world, it just makes people feel foolish.” He taps the picture with his finger. “’S my boyfriend.”  Porthos smiles and tries not to let it look sheepish, he had no way of knowing Athos would be a fan. “So it’s not so much that I read them, more like I lived with each of them for a year."

Athos is staring at him, mouth slightly parted and a thoroughly confused look on his face. He shakes his head as if clearing his thoughts. “I beg your pardon. It’s one thing to know, intellectually, that all authors are people in their own right, with relationships and apartments and pets. It is entirely another to know that one of your favorites is living across the hall from you with his boyfriend and his fluffy white cat and his comfortable-looking couch."

Porthos smiles. “It’s a very comfortable couch. Dug seems to like it."

Athos smiles and shakes his head again, sprinkling sea salt over the potatoes. “So the trip he’s on..?"

“Book tour, yeah. For the latest one."

“I haven’t bought it yet."

“Don’t, he’ll be gutted if he doesn’t get to give you a copy.” Porthos sets the wineglasses on the kitchen counter, and when Athos bends to slide the potatoes into the oven, he pulls his phone out and snaps a picture of the bookshelf.  

 

> Outgoing Message
> 
> To: Aramis
> 
> 7:20pm
> 
> You’ve already got something to bond over.
> 
> [image]

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Aramis
> 
> 7:22pm
> 
> Tell him he shouldn’t be rotting his brain with such tripe.

> Outgoing Message
> 
> To: Aramis
> 
> 7:22pm
> 
> Tell him yourself when you get home. Love you.

The chicken is really good, and the potatoes are a revelation. Athos says the secret to the chicken is to cook it with the breast down, and the secret to the potatoes is duck fat. “My mother’s cook used to save the fat from our Sunday dinners. I can’t be bothered, but the butcher on Sycamore will sell it to me."

“That your parents?” Porthos uses his fork to point at the picture of the older couple in the café.

“Yes. Out enjoying their retirement, I’m sure. We’re not terribly close, but it was a picture both of them smiling. That in itself is rare enough to warrant documentation and display.” When Porthos doesn’t look anything but curious, Athos continues. “Below them is my brother, Thomas. He’s the man you have to thank for Dug."

“How’s that?” Porthos asks, around a mouthful of green beans.

Athos chews and swallows before answering. “He decided that small children should grow up with a dog, so when my oldest niece turned one, he went to the shelter and came home with the cutest dog he could find. Tommy was never one for carefully considered plans."

“Yeah, I can see that. I can’t imagine how much energy Dug had when he was a puppy, but I know it was probably too much for that kid."

“Allison would have had him wrapped around her finger before too long; she’s quite good at it. No, I’m afraid the ending to this story is my fault. Somehow.” Porthos looks confused but interested, so Athos takes a drink of his water and continues. “Tommy said he wanted Allison to be Dug’s primary company, but we all knew he’d have preferred if Dug liked him best. In the end, for some inconceivable reason, it was me Dug took to most."

Porthos does not laugh at Athos’ disbelief.  Athos is calm and level, his voice is low but affectionate, of course Dug loved him best.

“Eventually, after the seventh or eighth time I visited, and Dug tried to stow away in my car when it came time to leave, Tommy asked me if I wanted to adopt him. He got that smug look that only little brothers are capable of and said ‘Clearly he wants to be your dog, why argue?’ And the next thing I knew, I had a dog."

Porthos wants to drink ten toasts to Tommy’s very good health for bringing Dug and Athos into his life. He settles for smiling and saying, “And he had you."

Athos’ ears go pink at the tips. “Yes. Well.”  

By the time Porthos finally leaves it’s nearly midnight and he’s glad to not be driving because he and Athos finished that wine and started another bottle.

“Well, there’s no arguing now, you’ll have to come over when Aramis gets home if only so he can give you a copy of the latest book.”  

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Athos says, and he’d be mortified to know how soft his smile looks at that moment. Porthos swallows with an audible click.

Athos holds the door open while Porthos looks over to the sofa and smiles.

“‘Night Dug.” The only answer he gets is a sleepy thump of Dug’s tail. Even with that lazy effort, Dug still manages to hit himself in the face.

Porthos turns back to Athos. “And g’night to you."

Athos smiles and Porthos is across the hall, his own door nearly open before he hears Athos say, “Good night. Porthos."

Porthos is in bed, Victoria pressed against the top of his head, before he pulls up his messages to send his last ‘good night.’  

> Outgoing Message
> 
> To: Aramis
> 
> 12:07am
> 
> I miss you.

 

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Aramis
> 
> 12:08am
> 
> Meaning that the bed is too large, the cat is too spoiled, and you can’t woo the neighbor boy on your own.  

> Outgoing Message
> 
> To: Aramis
> 
> 12:09am
> 
> Like I said, I miss you.

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Aramis
> 
> 12:10am
> 
> 6 days. I love you. Go to sleep.

 

Athos’ knock on Porthos’ door comes before dawn on Monday morning, and though this time he’s prepared for Athos in a suit, the sight still stops his heart for a moment.  It’s a dark charcoal suit, and the tie today is… Porthos stares at it for a minute, trying to place the color. He works with home builders; he sees paint chips all the time. He’s trying to find this color in the overlap between pale purple and soft gray on his mental color chart when he feels the dog bump into his knees.

Dug is happily wagging and shoving at Porthos’ legs trying to get into the flat.  “Morning Dug, your dad has good taste in ties.” Porthos moves to the side and hears Dug take a flying leap into Aramis’ chair.  

“I can’t thank you enough, again, for giving him a home while I’m away, not just a place to stay. He’d have been miserable without you and I’d have worried far too much."

Porthos grins, “We’re buddies, I think. When this project of yours is over maybe I could take him walks sometimes, I’ll miss him otherwise.”  I’ll miss you both, he thinks, but it stays inside.

Smiling, Athos hands him Dug’s leash. “Of course.” His smile turns almost shy for a heartbeat. "I think he would miss you, too."

Porthos clears his throat to keep from saying something that will make Athos’ walls come up. “We’ll send you a note tonight, yeah?  And you can call if you want, he liked that last time."

“I— It will depend on the day,” Athos says. “For now I need to be getting to the airport.  Thank you again, Porthos."

“Safe trip,” Porthos says, sketching a rough salute.

He closes the door and leans back against it, counts to twenty and says out loud, “I like your dad a lot, Dug."

Dug whacks himself in the face with his tail.  Laughing, Porthos takes a quick picture and sends it to Aramis.

> Outgoing Message
> 
> To: Aramis
> 
> 6:27am
> 
> [image]
> 
> Got my buddy back.

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Aramis
> 
> 10:45am
> 
> Please inform him that I’m going to want that chair back when I get home. Or at least a generous timeshare agreement.

Athos doesn’t call that night. Porthos sends him a picture of Dug anyway. The dog has managed to curl up so that his nose is buried in Victoria’s fur and Victoria is asleep with her head on Dug’s neck.  Porthos sends the picture to Athos with the caption, “Strange bedfellows, but they look comfy."

Athos replies with a short but charming, “He leads a very rough life. It’s hard to see him suffer like that.” And that’s the last Porthos hears from him that night.  

Tuesday he sends another picture, it’s their nightly pattern now.

This time, it’s Dug splayed out on his back, all four limbs out to the sides and snoring like a train.

> Outgoing Message
> 
> To: Athos Across the Hall
> 
> 7:40pm
> 
> [image]
> 
> Modest fella, isn’t he?

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Athos Across the Hall
> 
> 7:41pm
> 
> He gets that from his mother.

> Outgoing Message
> 
> To: Athos Across the Hall
> 
> 7:41pm
> 
> Thought it was just you over there.

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Athos Across the Hall
> 
> 7:42pm
> 
> I’ll thank you not to ruin my perfectly good excuse with your facts.

Porthos is still laughing when another text comes in.

 

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Athos Across the Hall
> 
> 7:43pm
> 
> Are you free?

> Outgoing Message
> 
> To: Athos Across the Hall
> 
> 7:43pm
> 
> Yeah. What’s up?

He shouldn’t be startled by the ringtone, but Porthos jumps a bit anyway.

“Hey."

Athos sounds less tired than he did the last time they spoke on the phone. “Is this alright?"

“Yeah! ‘Course. Told you, we’d enjoy hearing from you.”  He puts the phone on speaker for a moment and holds it out to Dug’s face. “Say hi to your dad, Dug.”  The dog does not bother to wake up.

“He’s a terrible ingrate,” Athos says and Porthos smiles to see Dug’s tail twitch in his sleep at the sound of Athos’ voice.  He takes the phone off speaker and adjusts his headset.

“Things any better this week?"

Athos sounds like he’s settling in for the night. “Much, thank you. No top brass for one, and all the development work is completed. The transition teams are idiots, but that’s to be expected. At least they don’t think they know everything already. Idiots I can work with."

“Bit of a blank slate, yeah?"

Athos huffs a laugh. “Quite, yes."

“Everything okay, then?"

“Yes I just— I realized I’d only spoken to co-workers and hotel staff all day, and sometimes it’s nice to have a conversation with someone who isn’t being paid to act as if they like me."

Porthos smiles, glad he can do something for this man he likes so much. He does not say ’No, I just plain like you,’ but he thinks it so loud he wonders if Athos hears it anyway. 

“Well I wish I could tell you that your dog is pining for you, but he’s found the toy I got him last week and we’re both chopped liver."

“He’s fickle at best. Tell me how your day was.”  This casual tone is new for Athos, but Porthos isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He loves that Athos feels comfortable calling and talking to him. He loves that there isn’t anything they need to say and they don’t have to have the pretense of a reason for the call.  

“It was a mess, actually."

“That bad?"

“No,” Porthos says, grinning. “It was literally a mess. The well-drilling guys were working on the row of houses behind the ones I’m working on, so there was mud and dust everywhere. Plus it was loud as hell.  They’re good guys, though, and funny, so the day was good in spite of the mess."

Athos lets out a quiet little hum. “I don’t even want to imagine what your shoes looked like at the end of the day."

Porthos can’t keep the laugh in. “Now that you mention it, when I came through the door even Dug looked like he was impressed with the amount of mud I managed to get on me."

“I only hope he hasn’t gotten any ideas about trying to outdo you on his next walk.”  They both laugh and when there is quiet on the line again Athos says, “I should go. More meetings in the morning and if I can get them to pay attention I might be able to take an earlier flight on Thursday."

“Well, we’ll be glad to see you whenever you get back.”  Porthos doesn’t catch that he’s included himself with Dug until the words are out of his mouth and he wants to kick himself for it. He’s been careful not to push or crowd Athos and he worries he’s made the man uncomfortable again.

“I’ll let you know which flight I eventually take,” Athos says, and he seems not to have noticed Porthos’ slip at all.  Either that or the idea of Porthos being happy to see him isn’t making Athos feel uncomfortable, but Porthos doesn’t even dare hope for that.

“G’night,” he says and Athos replies in kind. Porthos clicks the END button and taps the edge of his phone against his mouth. As is always the case when something makes him passionate or happy or engaged, he wants to talk to Aramis.   

Unfortunately it’s right in the middle of Aramis’ reading, so Porthos settles for an email that Aramis can pick up later.

 

> From:  Porthos <p.d.vallon@gmail.com>
> 
> To:  Aramis (personal) <writerundercover@gmail.com>
> 
> Date: September 22, 2015  8:10 pm
> 
> Subject:  These days are the hardest
> 
> Had a nice talk with Athos just now but I couldn’t help thinking that what he really needed was a talk with you. He said the only people he’d talked to all day were hotel people and employees.  He wanted to talk to someone who wasn’t being paid to pretend to like him. That sounds like a job for Aramis. No one has ever made me feel that they see who I am like you do. And no one makes me feel like they like that person more than you.
> 
> The princess and I are counting off days on the calendar.  Going to bed early so it’ll be tomorrow sooner and that’ll be one less day. Love you.
> 
> -P

> From:  Aramis (personal) <writerundercover@gmail.com>
> 
> To:  Porthos  <p.d.vallon@gmail.com>
> 
> Date: September 22, 2015  11:54pm
> 
> Subject:  Re: These days are the hardest
> 
> He needs to feel genuinely known and treated with honesty and he comes to you? My love, I am beginning to like your Athos more and more and I haven’t even met him. He is clearly a man of taste and intelligence.
> 
> I agree that these are the hardest days, but they will be over soon. One of the joys of physics is that though time seems to be standing still at the moment, the world is still turning under our feet.
> 
> My world turns only for you,
> 
> Aramis

Wednesday is uneventful and entirely ordinary. Even the string of messages he has back and forth with Aramis during the day are perfectly mundane check-ins and messages of love. Porthos comes home and walks Dug and deals with dinner and tries not to think that tomorrow night Athos will be back and Dug will go home, and Porthos will have two nights alone.

Maybe he can talk Athos into hanging out on Friday. The nerves will distract him from counting the minutes until Aramis is back and the company will make the time go faster. Later, when he has time to think about it, he’ll blame what happens next on him thinking about both of them that close together.

Porthos wanders into the bedroom to brush his teeth and sees Dug curled up on the bed.  It’s king-sized, with three standard-sized pillows in a row across the top. They’d had a debate early on in their relationship about whether to use king-sized pillows. Aramis had insisted they were too big to properly mush into a comfortable shape. He further pointed out that on very good nights, there were more than two of them in the bed. It had been three smaller pillows ever since. 

Dug is laying with his head on the right-hand pillow. Aramis’ pillow. Smiling, Porthos takes a picture and sends it.

 

> Outgoing Message
> 
> To: Aramis, Athos Across the Hall
> 
> 10:15pm
> 
> [image]
> 
> I know he’s not allowed on the bed at home, and I know who usually sleeps on that pillow, so I’m not sure which of you is going to be more put out by how comfortable he looks.

As soon as he hears the little whooshing sound of the message sending, Porthos starts to worry. He was going to wait. He was going to let them interact for the first time in the same room so that Athos could see how Aramis is a bit dramatic but genuine at heart and Aramis could see the twinkle in Athos’ eye when it sounds like he’s being snotty.  Some personalities should never interact in a primarily text-based medium before they have any exposure to each other’s speech patterns, and Porthos is terribly worried that Athos and Aramis are those personalities.

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Aramis
> 
> To: Porthos, Athos Across the Hall
> 
> 10:17pm
> 
> Tell him that pillow is spoken for, as is the one in the middle, but the one on the left is still open to applications for residency.

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Athos Across the Hall
> 
> To: Aramis, Porthos
> 
> 10:18pm
> 
> Behavior like this is usually a result of being allowed to take too many liberties without having his toys taken away. God only knows how I will ever get the upper hand again.

Alone in the bedroom, Porthos lets out a startled choking laugh when he sees Aramis’ response, then he sees Athos’ message come in. Porthos is absolutely certain Athos is being sarcastic, but he has no idea whether Athos is talking about Aramis or the dog.

Porthos spends all day Thursday alternately excited to see Athos that night and dreading losing his excuse to keep in contact. He’ll tell Athos he’s going to miss Dug and that won’t be a lie. But he’ll leave out how much Porthos has enjoyed having Athos in his life as well.

Athos looks exhausted, but not nearly as beaten down as he has in past weeks. He gives Porthos a tired smile as Dug goes barreling into his legs. Dropping to one knee, Athos scratches under Dug’s chin. “Yes, I know. Yes. You’ve been sorely neglected here at Porthos’ house. He’s let you sleep on the beds and loll about on the couches and taken you to the park. It’s been a miserable existence, how you’ve survived I’ll never know.”   

Dug is licking Athos’ face and Porthos is trying to keep his heart in his chest and his smile from looking lovelorn. Looking up, Athos says, “Dug says you should come for dinner tomorrow so that he can appropriately berate you for how poorly you’ve treated him."

Porthos doesn’t hesitate for a second.  “Yes, absolutely.” He’s been debating whether to say the next words, but he finds that now, at this moment, they come easily.  “As long as you agree to come for Sunday dinner.”  At Athos’ startled look, Porthos hurries on. “It’ll be my thank you for getting to hang out with Dug. Plus Aramis will never forgive me if he doesn’t get to give you the new book himself."

Athos stands and shoves his fists in his pockets. He seems smaller, somehow, and a little nervous. “He’ll be home by then?"

“Yeah,” Porthos resists the urge to fidget. “He gets in Saturday, late morning.”  His voice drops, but Porthos tries to keep it light still. “You should come.  Meet the neighbor. Give him a chance to show Dug who that chair really belongs to.”  One side of Porthos’ mouth curls up in a smile and a corner of Athos’ twitches in reply.  

The smile settles on his face properly, and Athos says, “If I can bring something."

“Dessert.  And maybe some wine?"

Athos brings his fists out of his pockets, hands uncurling and rubbing on his hips for the briefest second. “I’m confident I can manage that."

Porthos feels his heart in his throat.  “Great, it’s— we’ll see you around six?"

Athos clips Dug’s leash to his collar and leads him across the hall. He turns and smiles over his shoulder. “Six. Yes.”

Smiling, Porthos closes the door while Athos is still in the hall.

> Outgoing Message
> 
> To: Aramis
> 
> 8:10pm
> 
> Company for Sunday dinner okay?

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Aramis
> 
> 8:10pm
> 
> If you hadn’t already asked him, you’d be sending me nervous messages about what to say. So I’m going to assume that you’ve already asked and then suddenly remembered you should check with me. Which means you’re nervous enough to have forgotten that I told you to have him over for dinner. Of course, it’s okay. Dear man. I love you so much.

> Outgoing Message
> 
> To: Aramis
> 
> 8:12pm
> 
> Come home, it’s no fun making these angry faces if you can’t see them.

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Aramis
> 
> 8:13pm
> 
> I know the face you’re making, it’s the one where you try to look angry but the smile is winning so your eyebrows are drawn too tight and the corners of your mouth are twitching. I know your looks even when I’m far away. Sometimes I go through them at night like snapshots.   

> Outgoing Message
> 
> To: Aramis
> 
> 8:14
> 
> Come home anyway. Please.

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Aramis
> 
> 8:14pm
> 
> Saturday. No matter how. Fly, drive, run, walk, crawl. Try to keep me away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday is a day of weak sunshine and strong coffee. Porthos wakes up that morning and looks around for Dug for a second before remembering that with Athos home, Dug isn’t there to greet him. It puts him out of sorts for the rest of the day and when the buzz of an incoming message hits his pocket just after noon, he almost snaps a wire nut in half.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it, campers. This is the end for now, but if there's future domesticity you'd like to read about, drop me a line in the comments or over at [tumblr](http://werebeartbearbar.tumblr.com). Thank you so much for keeping me and Victorian and Dug (and the boys) company this week. I've had way too much fun. And thank you for all the amazing comments. It's not an exaggeration to say that they keep me motivated, enthusiastic, and touched beyond belief. Each time I get a notification I break out into this enormous doofus-y grin. Thank you, more than I can say.

Friday is a day of weak sunshine and strong coffee. Porthos wakes up that morning and looks around for Dug for a second before remembering that with Athos home, Dug isn’t there to greet him. It puts him out of sorts for the rest of the day and when the buzz of an incoming message hits his pocket just after noon, he almost snaps a wire nut in half.

It’s from Athos, and Porthos feels some of the tension drain from his shoulders.

 

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Athos Across the Hall
> 
> 12:07pm
> 
> I find by Friday I’m not up for culinary creativity. Would burgers suit?

> Outgoing Message
> 
> To: Athos Across the Hall
> 
> 12:09pm
> 
> Making me hungry already. What time?

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Athos Across the Hall
> 
> 12:10pm
> 
> Whenever you’re ready, text when you’re coming.

Every minute between 12:10 and 5:30 crawls. Every minute between when he leaves work at 5:30 and the second he texts Athos seems not long enough.  Porthos wants to be there already, he wants to be relaxing and getting to know Athos some more, but the nature of his job means that there needs to be a shower and a change of clothes. The nature of his upbringing means he’s got to stop and get something to bring with him. And the nature of his personality means he has to spend at least a minute standing in front of his mirror trying to psych himself into being calm and collected.

Victoria stares at him from the bed, one ear flicking from time to time as if she’s not buying a word of this. Porthos rests his hands on the sink in the bathroom, leaning forward onto his arms and dropping his head to his chest. He wants Aramis home, he wants to introduce them, he wants to see if there’s something here. He wants to move on to the next thing. He’s been with Aramis for so long now it seems ridiculous to be having new relationship nerves.

The phone vibrates on the counter next to him.

 

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Aramis
> 
> 6:02pm
> 
> Have fun, I can’t wait to hear all about it.

Porthos is calmer just for reading the words.

He’s startled by the soft thump of Victoria landing on the sink beside his left hand. She weaves between his arms and butts her head against the inside of his right elbow. Scratching her cheek against his shirt she gives a quiet hum that might be a purr on a cat with less dignity. For Victoria, it clearly comes too close to being sociable. She weaves back through his arms and hops off the counter, pausing just long enough to knock a tube of toothpaste to the floor. Wouldn’t do for Porthos to be getting ideas that she was up there for any altruistic purpose.

“I love you too, Princess,” he tells her. She absolutely does not rub against his leg on her way out of the bathroom.

Porthos texts Athos, waits half a minute, grabs the beer he bought on the way home and makes his way across the hall. Just before he raises his hand to knock, he feels his phone vibrate.

 

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Athos Across the Hall
> 
> 6:15pm
> 
> It’s unlocked, please come in.

He opens the door, trying to make enough noise to let Athos know he’s here.

“Porthos?"

“No. Burglar."

Athos makes a noise that’s almost a laugh. “It’s so polite when you introduce yourselves like that."

As he walks into the kitchen, Porthos is reminded again that suits aren’t the only outfits Athos wears that can make Porthos forget to breathe. Later he’ll only be able to recall that Athos’ shirt was blue, blue enough to make his eyes bright and that he was barefoot, the cuffs of his trousers soft around his ankles.  It makes Athos look vulnerable and open in a way he hasn’t looked before.

Porthos clears his throat, tries to clear his mind. “Hey."

Athos turns to look at him, smiling. “Hello."

“Some meals call for beer instead of wine.”  Porthos holds up the six pack and Athos points to the bottle opener mounted on the cabinet next to the refrigerator.

“Would you mind? I would love one of those, but my hands are a disaster.”  Porthos can’t stop the smile, can’t keep it from growing warm and fond and soft. He opens one of the bottles and sets it in front of Athos and just barely keeps from ducking his head when Athos smiles back.

 

The burgers are fantastic. Athos has performed some kind of miracle with onion powder and sharp cheese and before he can blink, Porthos has had three. Over the course of the meal, they talk about everything and nothing.

Porthos talks about why he loves what he does for a living. He talks about being a tinkerer as a kid, about how his mother never owned a toaster that worked for more than two weeks. He finds himself talking about his mother a lot, how they were all each other had when he was growing up. She’s found love since, thinks Porthos’ stepfather hung the moon, but when Porthos was young it was them against the world.

Athos talks about how he met the woman who’d eventually stormed off and left Dug with the neighbors. She was a friend of an ex, really that should have kept him from even starting the relationship. Porthos doesn’t say that without that woman he wouldn’t be sitting here tonight having amazing burgers and even better conversation, but he thinks it so loud he’s sure it’s audible outside his head.

They talk about Tommy, Dug’s original dad. Athos clearly loves him, even with the exasperation in his voice. He tells stories about all of the scrapes he’s pulled Tommy out of over the last thirty-odd years. Athos has stood up to bullies and lied to parents. He’s faked sick notes and been the wingman on more disastrous double dates than he cares to mention. (There were three. For Athos that was three too many.)

“For a while,” he says, “I wasn’t sure saving the little jerk all those times was worth it. I despaired of ever getting a call from him that wasn’t something I’d dread doing."

“But…?"

“But then six years ago he asked me to give the Best Man speech at his wedding to a woman I actually thought was good enough for him. That covered a multitude of sins. Anything left over was well and truly wiped out when he asked if I’d be godfather the first time. When he asked the second time, I assumed he was building up credit for some future headache. It’s coming someday, I’m sure of it."

After that, it’s natural to talk about Athos’ nieces. They are brilliant and beautiful and clever, he says. Even with peas in their hair. Even standing in a pile of dog fur, looking guilty and holding scissors. Porthos watches Athos’ face when he talks about those girls and finds himself unspeakably glad that there is that kind of love in Athos’ life. He deserves it.

Athos rolls a beer bottle along its base and picks at the label with his thumb. “How did you meet your boyfriend?"

Porthos knows that people assume it will either be some lurid tale of a passionate one-night stand who couldn’t let each other go or that there will be some kind of dashing story about Aramis writing his number on the flyleaf of a book at a signing. The reality is that they’d met at a mutual friend’s birthday party. They’d spent the evening trying not to get caught looking at each other and at the end of the night, a slightly tipsy Aramis had pressed his number into Porthos’ hand after only the briefest of introductions. “Call me? Please?” he’d said.

“You wanna hit a diner?” Porthos had asked in return, and at the end of the meal, Porthos had walked Aramis to his car and kissed him before saying goodnight.

They went on proper dates, Aramis held the door, Porthos always called the morning after to say thank-you, and they waited until after the third date to fuck. How they got from there to the delightfully perverted couple planning the best strategy to seduce their neighbor, Porthos will never know. He only knows that these days, his first thought every morning is to thank the universe for giving him the chance to love Aramis.

When Porthos retells the story to Athos, at least this time, he leaves those parts out.

“Pretty boring, sorry. We met at a friend’s party and asked each other out at the end. A year or so later we chucked our separate places and moved in here, together. He can be a pain in the ass, but I wouldn’t have him any other way."

Athos looks like he isn’t sure whether to smile or cry.  “May we all be so lucky."

Porthos supposes he might just be getting used to the tightness in his chest that Athos brings on. It certainly hasn’t gone away.

It’s late, too late, before Porthos leaves.  They could have continued talking for years, it seems, but they’ve been passing yawns back and forth for half an hour and Porthos doesn’t want to overstay his welcome.

“Thanks for dinner,” he says, clapping Athos on the shoulder.

Athos smiles, he might be pressing his shoulder up into Porthos’ hand, but it might be wishful thinking on Porthos’ part. “Nonsense, I enjoyed every minute. And I know Dug missed you."

The dog in question is curled up in his bed in the corner of the room, snoring loudly.

“Yeah, he seems real broken up about it."

“He’s crying on the inside. I’m sure of it."

Porthos laughs, he can’t help it. He has one hand on the doorknob when he says, “See you Sunday?"

Athos is standing in the middle of the living room, hands in his pockets and an unreadable expression on his face. “Of course. Have to get my book, don’t I?"

The smile on Porthos’ face is softer than he intends as he closes the door behind him.

 

> Outgoing Message
> 
> To: Aramis
> 
> 11:48pm
> 
> You up for a bedtime story?

> Incoming Message
> 
> From: Aramis
> 
> 11:48pm
> 
> I’ve been looking forward to it all day.

They don’t usually do video calls this close to the end of a trip, it seems to hurt so much worse, knowing how close they are to real contact. But this is a special occasion and Porthos knows that nothing will seem real until he talks about it with Aramis.

“Babe, you’re still the most gorgeous man I’ve ever set eyes on, but you look awful."

“And people say the magic fades after so many years.”  Aramis rakes a hand through his hair and smiles. He looks more than awful, he looks exhausted.

“You sure you wanna do this tonight? I’ll see you in the morning anyway."

Aramis’ expression is fondly desperate. “My love, I want nothing in this moment, nothing in the world, more than to talk to you.  Except perhaps to hold you, and I’ll have that soon enough. Talk to me; help me stop counting the minutes."

His flight leaves Toronto at 6:15 Saturday morning, he knows he has to be there early to check his bags and clear exit customs. He’s a pro at this and his timeline is fairly familiar. Even still, he and Porthos stay up talking so late that after they hang up, Aramis barely has enough time to shower, dress and meet the car to the airport.

They go through everything. They talk about Athos’ life, his family, all the things he told Porthos and all the things he didn’t. Aramis asks questions about Athos’ flat and his cooking techniques, all the questions he didn’t ask after Athos and Porthos’ first dinner.

No detail seems too small as Aramis spins realities out of Porthos’ facts. They spend some time talking about things they might do as a trio if things work out, all their favorite places they’d like to take him. Porthos offered the bedtime story, but it’s Aramis who weaves tales about weekend afternoons together.

Somewhere in the middle, Aramis gets a little filthy. Porthos gets extremely filthy in return. He talks about undressing Aramis for Athos, pointing out all the best places to kiss and touch and stroke. There’s a frantic but enthusiastic hand job for both of them and Porthos laughing at how he thinks Aramis got some on his iPad’s camera.

They’re quiet for a half hour almost, near the end. Aramis stares at Porthos, reaches out to touch parts of his face, and sighs. Porthos traces the edges of Aramis’ mouth on his own screen. They are both wishing Aramis were at home, in their bed.

“We haven’t stayed up all night talking in years. Now I remember why. I’m gonna be useless today."

“That will make two of us. Perhaps we should be useless together? We can nap and support each other in our sloth."

Porthos laughs. “You never need to convince me to get in a bed with you.”  He traces the edges of Aramis’ face again. “See you at 10:15, yeah?"

“I’m just going to get a cab, stay in bed."

Aramis always tells Porthos not to come to the airport; Porthos always goes to the airport. He can’t stand the idea that there’s a time when he could be with Aramis and isn’t.

“So 10:15, then?” Porthos smirks.

“You were sent to test me, I’m sure of it. Fine, if you’re so determined. Yes, that’s when my flight gets in.”  He pauses and looks at Porthos, takes in the entirety of him, as much of it as he can see through this connection. “I love you."

The smirk falls away and Porthos’ face is naked and open. “I love you, too."

“Get a couple of hours of sleep, I don’t want you driving both of us into the harbor on the way home."

The goodbye takes longer than it should, but eventually Porthos scratches Victoria under her chin and pulls the covers up around his shoulders. He is asleep in seconds; he dreams of cooking with Athos and Aramis and wakes up smiling.

Porthos is aware that the amount of time they cling to each other in the Arrivals area is long enough to be uncomfortable for innocent onlookers. He doesn’t give a single fuck. “Shit, I missed you so much."

Aramis’ hands are fisted in the back of Porthos’ shirt, his nose buried in Porthos’ neck. “I’ve gotten so good at imagining you, imagining holding you, I’m afraid that’s what I’m doing now."

“Nope, absolutely real. And absolutely need to get you home."

The kisses in the elevator on the way up to their floor are slow, reacquainting themselves with each other. The sex they have as soon as they’re in the apartment is fast, frantic and hot and made of broken gasps and clutching hands. Afterward, they sleep for six straight hours.  When Aramis wakes up, Victoria is sitting on his chest and Porthos is staring at them both, smiling. It’s so fucking good to be home.

 

Sunday starts slow, a leisurely fuck, and a big breakfast and reading for hours. They shop together for the groceries for dinner and Aramis bakes sweet potatoes and parsnips while Porthos preps the roast. When there’s nothing left but to wait on the beef, they curl up on the couch and talk, so glad to be in touching distance that they’re taking every opportunity they can to be in contact.

Every time Porthos gets nervous, he feels Aramis’ hand at the small of his back, a warm, calm weight. A tether to his solid foundation, his Aramis.

There’s a brief debate about who should answer the door when Athos arrives and Porthos wonders if this is what they were both like before their first dates with each other.  When the knock comes, Porthos answers. He greets Athos and lets Dug off his leash.  Dug goes tearing into the living room and stops short right in front of Aramis’ chair. The chair Aramis is currently occupying.  

“Now you’re just taunting him, love,” Porthos says, and Aramis looks up, grinning.

“Hello,” he says, standing and extending his hand. He introduces himself, nothing fancy, just his name and how pleased he is to meet Athos. For his part, Athos’ reply is warm and friendly, open. Porthos wonders if he’s really that comfortable, or if he’s putting up a good front.

“I’ve brought wine and dessert.”  Athos holds up the bottle and a box from a nearby bakery.

“Man after my own heart,” Aramis says, flashing a grin that’s a touch more ‘Aramis’ than his initial greeting. Athos’ eyes flare for half a second and then he smiles, looking Aramis straight in the eye.

“Is there anything I can do to help?"

“Nope,” Porthos says, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out and brushing Athos’ hair back from his forehead or petting his sweater.

“Not entirely true,” Aramis says, heading for the kitchen and waving them after him. “You can keep us company while we get everything on plates. And you can open the wine.”

Athos inclines his head, polite but playing along. “But of course. Lead on.”

They spend the meal talking about the places Aramis has been on this tour, which he liked best and which he was glad to see the back of. He and Athos were in Quebec for a few days in common and they bond over the mercurial weather and the nearly-suicidal taxi drivers. As the evening goes on, Porthos starts to relax, losing the curl in his shoulders. Athos opens up even more. His fingers stop toying with his silverware in between bites and he starts leaning toward whomever he is speaking with at the time.

Aramis is on his nearly-best behavior. He’s got the charm turned on, but he’s not giving a show. Porthos knows what this is, he’s seen it before, been on the receiving end of it. This is what it looks like when Aramis desperately wants someone to like him and genuinely isn’t sure they will. Porthos wants to hug them both.

When the last of the red wine sauce has been sopped up with the last of the bread, Aramis stands and starts clearing the plates. With everyone’s help, the table is cleaned and the dishes done. Porthos doesn’t miss how Aramis keeps cutting his eyes toward the bakery box.

“Here, pass it over and I’ll serve,” he says.

Aramis smiles at him, bright as the sun for just a second. “While you’re at that, I owe Athos a book. I’ll be back before you know it."

And then they’re alone in the kitchen and Porthos can’t let the moment go by. “Thanks for coming tonight. He’s been looking forward to meeting you, and I really hoped you’d get on.”  He pauses for a second, looking at Athos with worry in his eyes. “He can be a bit like drinking from a fire hose in the beginning, but I think you’ll like him once you get to know him."

Athos sets his wine glass on the counter, a pinched look coming over his face.  He glances past Porthos’ shoulder to the doorway of the room Aramis walked into. Satisfied that it’s just the two of them for at least the next few minutes, Athos levels his gaze back on Porthos.

“I think perhaps we need to talk about this. I know we had some exchanges early on which were perhaps more flirtatious than either of us intended, but each time when it became clear you were only being friendly, that your interest was spoken for, I stepped back. Even after you told me that he knew about the time we spent together and had no objection, I respected that relationship and your boundaries."

Athos scrubs his hand across his eyes. He seems at a loss for words, or at least at a loss for what order the words should come in. “I tried, Porthos, to not offend. I tried to have the best balance of familiarity and respect for your relationship. Which is the reason I’m unsure why Aramis appears to be flirting with me tonight, and why you seem to be encouraging it. Are you waiting for me to fall for it, to return the interest so you can shut me down? So I can be reminded again?"

Porthos opens his mouth to speak, but Athos holds up a hand. “You are not a cruel man, Porthos. I know this about you, know it for a fact, so I believe you and Aramis are not setting me up to knock me down. I just have not the faintest idea what you _are_ doing."

While he’s been talking, Athos has taken his eyes off the doorway, he’s been staring at Porthos, so the sound of Aramis’ voice from the doorway takes them both by surprise.

“Well you’re right that I’ve been trying to pique your interest, but I’m afraid you’re not thinking large enough.” Aramis smiles and lays it on the table. “We _were_ rather hoping you’d be interested in flirting — with both of us. In seeing both of us."

Athos’ eyes fly wide, and Porthos spends half a second hoping Athos doesn’t snap the wine glass stem. The last thing this night needs is stitches. Athos looks like he’s spinning through a never ending list of protests he can make. This is the one he settles on: “You barely know me.” His voice is soft and he sounds so confused.

Aramis sits on the couch, looking into the kitchen where they are both standing at the worktop. “Now that’s just patently untrue. Porthos has been besotted with you for weeks, and he is terrible at keeping these things to himself. He’s told me everything he knows about you, has told me the kind of man he believes you to be. And that’s a man I want to take a chance on, even with an arrangement like this."

Athos darts his eyes over to Porthos. The only gesture Porthos makes is a half shrug. “He’s not wrong. Not about any of it. I’ve told him all the things I like about you, all the things I think he’d like. And he’s right about that other thing as well. I’ve found you pretty much irresistible ever since I met you. Almost from the moment I met your dog."

At the mention of the dog, Athos looks around to see where he is. Dug is sitting on the couch, curled up halfway onto Aramis’ lap.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Athos smiles and says, “Porthos, is there a reason you never brought up this possibility? It was certainly clear to you in our early conversations that I wasn’t uninterested.”

Porthos’ mouth drops open. “You shut me down. You closed off every time I came on too strong."

“I _thought_ you were trying to cheat on your boyfriend!”  This is the most animated Porthos has ever seen Athos, and damn if it doesn’t make him twice as sexy.

Hands clutching at the back of the sofa, fingers fisted in the cushion, Porthos says, “I know you did, so I told you he knew we were talking, that he didn’t mind.”

“And then you never again were more than friendly. Warm, yes, of course, and charming. I don’t think you know any other way to be—."

A delicate snort from Aramis interrupts him. “Well, he has you there."

Athos goes on, “But you didn’t once say, ‘Now that you know my boyfriend doesn’t mind us talking, you should know he’d be okay with us doing more than that.’” He throws his hands up, frustrated but laughing. "I would even have accepted, ‘We’re poly; wanna date us?' But every time you mentioned Aramis it was only to talk about his tour or your relationship with each other.” He walks over to stand in front of Porthos. Athos cups Porthos’ shoulders with his palms, turning Porthos to face him, and sighs, smiling. “I don’t suppose you thought that might look to me like you were telling me you weren’t interested."

“I didn’t want to pressure you,” Porthos says, as though he has just now realized this might not have been obvious to all involved parties.

The way Athos looks at him, Porthos feels like he’s the Christmas present a child almost missed. One that had slid under the sofa and Athos has just now caught sight of his shiny red paper, hopeful and surprised and fingers itching to pull at the corners. Athos skims his hands up over Porthos’ neck, cups his face, and kisses him.

Porthos can feel Athos’ mouth under his own, warm, dry and a little rough from the winter winds. ‘Must have walked Dug before coming over,’ Porthos thinks, and barely stops himself from laughing at the ridiculousness of that thought coming to him now.

He curls his hands over Athos’ wrists, holding them to his face, and kisses him back.

When Athos pulls away, it’s so slow that Porthos can feel their lips clinging for a moment after their faces separate, reluctant to let go. “We could have been doing that for weeks,” Athos says, resting his forehead against Porthos’.

From the couch, Aramis laughs, his eyes shining. “Not _quite_ , I’m afraid. The bastion of good behavior here wouldn’t make a move until you and I could meet.”

Athos drops one hand to rest on the back of the couch and Aramis takes it, tugging Athos down to his level. “In that case, we could have been having Skype dates, at least,” Athos says, and then he’s quiet as Aramis kisses him. Porthos is staring at them, still stunned by the turn the evening has taken, and he sees the moment that Aramis’ tongue flicks out to lick over Athos’ top lip.  When the kiss breaks, they’re both smiling.

“Oh yes,” Aramis says. “At the very least."

Porthos grins, there’s his love, there’s every inch of his Aramis. Not a showy kind of sexy, but dripping with promise.

Aramis’ face turns earnest. “Because I can be a bit of a stickler for language, and because we’ve all just learned a valuable lesson in making things clear, can I take this to mean that you are interested in pursuing this? In seeing if there can be something between the three of us. Romantically?” He smirks again, “Even if there’s no Skype involved?"

“Dating, Aramis. I want there to be dating. You, me and Porthos. I want that."

Aramis crushes their mouths together in a quick, fierce kiss.

Dug takes the opportunity to make his presence known again, jamming his face into the space between Aramis’ and Athos’ bodies. Athos’ eyes flick to the nearest clock. “I’m afraid I need to pause for just a moment. If I don’t take Dug out now, he’s likely to interrupt again at a time even more inopportune than this one."

Porthos squeezes the hand he’s still holding. “We’ll come, too."

Athos stands and smiles at him. “I’ll be back, don’t worry."

“Oh he’s not worried about you coming back,” Aramis says, and Porthos knows that Aramis is covering for him, at least a little. Porthos is still wrapping his head around the idea that this might be real. “It’s bonding time with Dug, Porthos would never turn that down.”  Aramis gets up and goes to the door, shoving his keys and phone into his pocket. “I’m coming because I can’t abide the idea of passing up a chance for me to look at the two of you together."

 

The normally short walk around the building takes almost half an hour. The three of them keep stopping, taking turns pressing each other into the brick wall with the force of their kisses. Dug seems happy to take the extra time to explore, poking his nose into everything he can find.

As they’ve been outside, the kisses have grown firmer, deeper. Aramis’ fingers have curled into the collar of Athos’ shirt as he kisses the hinge of Athos’ jaw.  Porthos has groaned into Aramis’ mouth, his hands deep in Aramis’ back pockets, pulling them together. Athos has rested his head back against the wall of the building while Porthos’ forearms frame his face, Porthos’ eyes never leaving his through a kiss that takes Athos apart and puts him back together all at once.

There’s a brief, laughing round of grab-ass on the way through the lobby as they return, some groping and kissing in the elevator. Then the mood shifts as they near their doorways. Athos, by silent consent, has joined them at their door again. Porthos puts his hand on Athos’ forearm as Aramis unlocks the door. He knows what he wants to say, but the words don’t come easily.

“We’re not usually… You don’t…” He finds the words, finally. “I know this is fast,” Porthos says, and he hopes his voice conveys that it’s scary even to him, that he knows Aramis isn’t as collected as he looks, but that even though he’s nervous about spooking Athos even now, it still feels so right.

Athos passes Dug’s leash to Aramis and then taking Porthos by the hands, he says, “Yes. But not too fast."

Porthos closes his eyes and smiles, relieved. Athos feels it, too. There was a connection when it was just the two of them, and he’s loved Aramis with all his heart for years, but the three of them together, now that they’ve agreed to try, is somehow special. Somehow more.

They lock the door behind them and Aramis leads them back over to the living room.

“He wasn’t lying about us talking about you either,” Porthos says, and watches Aramis’s mouth curl with a smile.

“Really?” Athos asks.

“Specifically, we talked about your ties.”  Aramis looks to Athos’ throat, then back up at his face.

Athos puts on the most dignified face Porthos has ever seen, and when he speaks he oozes propriety. “I’m afraid I’m not entirely clear what you mean by that. Perhaps you’d care to explain."

“It’s a very detailed explanation. Nuanced. Could take hours. You’ll probably not make it home tonight if you stay for it.” Aramis grins. Porthos knows how much he loves having someone to play with him like this, someone who gives as good as he gets. For so long it’s been only the two of them and this feels like Aramis just got a new conspirator.

“Well, I’m reliably informed that my dog will be well cared for if he’s here, so there’s no rush home. I’m sure we can manage the unexpurgated version."

Porthos laughs so loud that Dug lifts his head over the arm of Aramis' chair and glares at him. He settles his hands on Athos’ hips and brings him in. “Well, it’s like this, see...” Guiding Athos by the hips, Porthos steers him toward the couch and back onto it. “The first time you came to drop Dug off, you were wearing that gray tie."

Athos nods, staring as Porthos drops the couch next to him. Aramis takes a seat on Athos’ other side. Porthos watches as Aramis’ hand slides up and around Athos’ shoulders, settling on the back of his neck with a warm weight. Athos leans back into it, dropping his eyes closed for a breath before opening them again to stare at Porthos.

“Killed me with that tie, Athos. We had all kinds of ideas for things we wanted to do with that tie once we got it off you. If I had it right now, I’d lash your hands together so you couldn’t interrupt me while I do this.”

He leans in, kissing Athos’ mouth while Aramis’ lips trail up the back of Athos’ neck. They trade kisses and wandering hands for long, lazy minutes. When Porthos feels Athos’ neck go tight, he opens his eyes to see that Aramis has his hand fisted in Athos’ hair, his mouth at Athos’ ear.

“He’s been thinking about having us both this close together for weeks. From the minute he started talking about you I knew I could want it, too. Is this what you want.”  Athos stares and nods, wide-eyed, watching as Porthos slides to his knees between Athos’ feet. As Porthos reaches for his zipper, Athos gives a quiet, " _Fuck_ ," and that's enough to have Aramis sucking at Athos' throat again.

It is not the best oral sex Porthos has ever given, it’s not a masterpiece of technique and style, but he gives himself points for enthusiasm and sheer joy in the action. Every sound Athos makes spurs Porthos on, and when Athos’ noises become muffled by Aramis’ kisses, it only makes Porthos want more.

They make it to the bed, eventually. Victoria gives them a disgusted look and abandons her perch on Porthos’ pillow in favor of keeping Dug company in the living room. It’s for the best, really, no need to stick around for that undignified display.

 

Porthos wakes long before his alarm, nudged into wakefulness by the unaccustomed feeling of someone at his back. He opens his eyes and looks at Aramis, face soft and hair wild, on the pillow next to him. Turning over, Porthos can see Athos, blinking sleepily and looking back at him.

“Morning yet?” Athos asks, voice still rough and tired.

Porthos looks over his shoulder to the alarm clock. “Not yet, not quite.” He noses his way under Athos’ jaw, laying kisses along his throat. “Still a little time."

Athos hums contentedly and lets Porthos wrap him in his arms, drawing Athos closer. They trade slow kisses and their bodies roll together, unhurried. Aramis wakes before too long, their movements having dragged the quilt down far past his shoulders.

“Porthos if you’ve brought a cover-hog to bed I’m afraid I—oh.” He’s opened his eyes and seen them, seen how Athos’ fingers are curled into the meat of Porthos’ back, the other hand buried in Porthos’ curls.  From that angle, he’s also able to see the snaking movement of Porthos’ muscles as he rocks into Athos.

Porthos can feel the moment Aramis drapes himself over his back, can feel Aramis’ mouth against his neck. “Still a little time,” he repeats, for Aramis this time.

“Good,” Aramis says, meeting Athos’ eyes over Porthos’ shoulder. “‘M not quite done with you two yet, need just a little more to get me through my day."

Porthos laughs and hopes they can both feel it through his skin.

They decide against a group shower.  It’s big enough, but Porthos reminds them both that he and Athos need to get to work at some point. Porthos showers while Athos takes Dug out, stopping at his own apartment for some work clothes on the way back. When they meet in the kitchen, again, Athos and Porthos showered and dressed, Aramis has been busy.

There is a plate of eggs and some toast, coffee and the paper he’d darted out to snatch from Athos’ doorstep. Athos smiles at him, so soft it stops Porthos in his tracks.

“Thank you,” Athos says, and Porthos wonders how long it’s been since someone was good to him. They’ve got a lot of ground to make up and they’ll enjoy every second of it.

They make plans for dinner, Athos’ place this time, and talk about what they’ll do over the coming week, what Aramis will be busy doing during the day. They plan an actual date, outside their respective apartments, for the next weekend.  When Porthos checks the time on his phone and starts making motions to clear his dishes, Aramis waves him away, taking the plates to the sink and coming back with a lunchbox and thermos.

“For you, my love. Play nice with the other kids.”  He hands them to Porthos and gets a kiss in exchange.

Athos is watching them, smiling indulgently. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, he’s interrupted by Aramis passing him a full travel mug.

“And this one is for you, Dug told me how much cream and sugar.” He hadn’t, of course. Porthos had, at least a week ago, but Aramis remembered.

Athos’ surprised smile is an open, tender thing. “Well… be sure to tell him I said thank you.”  

They all look over to where Dug is sprawled, belly up, in Aramis’ chair. “Are you sure you’re alright with him here today?” Athos asks.

“More than. I feel like I’ve missed out on getting to know him so this will be good.”

There are kisses at the door, the three of them in every combination and finally with Athos’ lips pressed to Aramis’ neck while Porthos licks his way into Aramis’ mouth. Eventually, after too long and not nearly long enough, Porthos drags Athos out the door, Athos stopping to give a quick wave in the direction of the living room, where Dug is looking back at them from behind his tail. Aramis waves to them as they make their way down the hallway.

Porthos catches Athos’ shoulder and spins him around for the kind of kiss he’s wished he could give Athos for longer than he’d care to admit. It’s natural, easy, and everything Porthos has been wishing for. They can both hear Aramis clear his throat, pointedly, and with quiet grins they head for the elevator.

As the door to the apartment closes, Porthos can hear Aramis laughing and saying, "I see we still need to talk about whose chair that is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The first time Victoria jumps up onto the table while Athos is reading the paper, he completely ignores her except to reach one hand out and idly scratch her right above the tail. He not only doesn't fawn over her, he doesn't even acknowledge her presence. Victoria loves him instantly and endlessly.)


End file.
